Boundaries
by SpidEMcD
Summary: Circa Season 6. In the wake of being disappointed by Cuddy and Wilson, House sets some personal boundaries, much to their dismay.  When he's faced with a serious dilemma, House turns to some new found friends to help him out.  PPTH docs, nolan and ocs.
1. 1 Slip Sliding Away

Slip Sliding Away

Winter in New Jersey sucked. Plain and simple. And it sucked even more the evening after a day of the sun melting the snow just enough to make crossing a parking lot the most treacherous obstacle for any able-bodied person. For Greg House, traversing ice and snow was the equivalent of the "X Games". Each step he took toward his car was like negotiating a mine field. A wrong step could send him flying through the air only to be splattered on the ground. He'd rather be walking bare foot across hot coals.

Once safely inside his nice reliant automobile, House realized he could make the ride home a little more interesting-provided there was no traffic. The occasional skid/slide through an intersection and fishtailing around corners made him feel in control for the first time in a long while. The fun was over once he secured a parking spot just half a block away from his apartment.

Again the trepidation he felt once the car door was opened was enough to cause tension throughout his body. And that was never good for his bum leg. Using the car for leverage he extracted himself, his cane and his knapsack from the vehicle. "Damn," Greg growled with a sigh. Ten yards could seem like an airport runway sometimes.

He concentrated on taking each step while keeping his weight evenly distributed. _So far, so good. _As long as no one came flying down the street he'd make it.

"Whoa!" It only took a millisecond, a slight misstep. One foot sliding forward, the other back. And that's when the body tries to right itself in a strange ballet of flailing arms and tossed accessories. The body lands in ways that aren't conducive to readily getting up.

It was not a happy landing. The jarring pain of various body parts hitting the ground was only overshadowed by the back of his head smacking the ice covered pavement. White lights popped before his eyes as Greg sighed in a mixture of pain and defeat.

The pain and humility would have to wait. Laying in the middle of the road only made him a human speed bump. A vehicle was coming. He needed to get out of the way.

_Easier said than done._

The driver of the SUV slowed upon seeing the figure in the street. Her hand was already on her cell phone as the vehicle came to a full stop. The figure was half-sitting, shielding his eyes with his hand. It was very possible the guy was just crazy enough to have a bit of a lie down in the street. She better check before calling out the National Guard.

Treading carefully she held onto the vehicle and made her way to the front. The man didn't seem to be getting up.

"Sir, are you okay?" She approached him cautiously.

"Just peachy. I always take a siesta in the middle of traffic."

She was right, a fifty-one/fifty. "There's a shelter not far from here."

House looked up at her incredulously. "I'm not-"

"Oh, sorry. I'm not trying to pass judgment."

"I was just trying to get from my car to my apartment."

_Great, he's drunk._ "Well then, it's probably best-"

"If you could give me a hand, I can get out of your way."

She was hesitant. He couldn't understand why. And the last thing he wanted to do was explain why he needed help.

"Watch your step. It's an ice rink out here."

"Oh." It was as if everything all made sense. "Oh! Are you injured?"

"Just my pride." Greg reached for her, stopping abruptly. The pain in his leg intensified. "And maybe a little more.

"Do you see my cane anywhere?" He looked around hopefully. It was his way of letting her know he was a gimp before he hit the pavement.

"Here, let me help you up." She placed herself strategically as if she had done this many times before.

Greg raised himself half way before a wave of nausea passed through him. He gripped the bumper until it passed.

"Let's get you over to the curb so I can check you out a little better."

He snorted, ready to make a snide remark, but thought better of it. This woman was possibly his best chance of getting to safety. Due to his current state he had little choice but to use her like a crutch and leaned exceptionally heavily on her.

She eased him down to the curb under a street light. He groaned, mumbling a choice explicative or two as he tended to his thigh. "I'll be right back, just going to move the beast."

Greg watched her small, sturdy frame climb into the near-monster truck. She moved it closer to where he was, making him a little nervous. "I'm okay, really," he told her as she got out.

"You took a good spill. You should at least get checked out by a doctor."

"I'll call my friend. He's a doctor." Greg dug out his cell phone and hit Wilson's speed dial number. "Little privacy please," he glared up at the Good Samaritan.

"What do you want, House?" Wilson sounded perturbed, borderline frustrated.

"Need you." Greg kept the emotion from his voice.

"I'm tired. It's getting late. I don't have the time tonight to baby-sit you because you're bored."

"You have a date," he said with resign.

"Are you okay? You don't sound like yourself."

"I'm in pain."

There was a long pause before Wilson replied. "I'm sorry to hear that. Take the Ibuprophen and get into a hot bath. I'll call back after dinner and check on you." Wilson hung up before House could get a word out.

Greg closed his phone and set it down next to him. He began massaging his thigh with renewed vigor. This time it was doing more harm than good. "Okay," he said through clenched teeth.

She was at his side quickly, her hands keeping his from the habitual kneading. She looked at him closely. "Your eyes are glassy."

"I'm tired."

"Your cheeks are flushed."

"It's cold out."

She felt his face. "You're hot."

"You're not so bad yourself."

She rolled her eyes but was smiling. "You might have a concussion." She felt the back of his head, and he slapped one of her hands away. "You've got a nice goose egg back there."

She stepped back to assess his leg.

"I'd rather you didn't touch me anymore." He had no idea who this woman was, but once she felt the crater in his leg, she'd flee and he'd be stuck in the gutter.

"I'm trained to do this."

"I don't need to see your Red Cross Certification to believe you."

"So you're not giving me consent?"

"Nope," he responded matter-of-factly.

"But you wouldn't mind a ride to a local ER." She had his number. He was too embarrassed to admit he was hurt. Most people his age downplayed their injuries.

He nodded, his face a mask of pain.

"I'd feel better if you'd let me splint it. It's just going to hurt worse."

Greg kept his eyes closed. "I'll manage," he grunted. "Just help me up."

Again he was surprised by her strength. His own was faltering and he wanted nothing more than to get somewhere warm, preferably where he could lie down. House was so distracted with his thoughts, he didn't realize he was using her head like the crook of a cane until she repositioned herself.

"I know I'm short, but I need my head on my shoulders, not through them."

"Sorry." He adjusted his weight, his whole body trembling now.

She could feel it. He was probably going to pass out on her before they got much further. "I'm going to turn you around. I want you to grab on to the 'holy shit handles' while I give you a boost up."

"Holy shit handles?"

"You know, the overhead handles you grab on the passenger side or back doors when the driver takes a turn too fast. You hang on for dear life and yell: 'holy shit'."

Greg had to laugh at that. He looked up at the door frame. "I'm nearly a foot taller than you."

"So?" She knelt in front of him clasping her hands together, fingers laced, palms up. "Step into my hands."

House did what she said, and within seconds his butt was on the back seat.

"Don't fall out," she ordered as she went to the other side and climbed in behind him. "I'm going to grab you under the arms and slide you back onto the seat."

"You're pretty good at this."

"It's all physics and leverage." She winked at him playfully before closing the doors and climbing behind the wheel. "Now that you're my captive…"

Greg's brain went into overdrive. He didn't know this person, and here he was, imprisoned in her SUV. Maybe she was some kind of wacko nut job.

"…I don't even know your name."

"Uh…"

_Damn, he's confused. _"I'm Cindy. If you need me to slow down or anything, just give me a shout. I'll try to avoid the potholes as best I can."

House stayed quiet. Suddenly he felt like James Caan's character in "Misery". They had driven, by his estimate, about two miles before reaching the first red light. Cindy turned around to check on him.

"How ya doin' back there?"

Greg nodded. He was focusing on the pain to distract himself from what might be a kidnapping in progress.

"You sure? You look a little green around the gills."

"Where are you taking me?"

"Memorial. They've got a good orthopedic department. Seems like a good choice considering…"

"How long?" 

"ETA, five minutes."


	2. 2  Stray

Stray

House laid on the gurney behind walls made of curtains clutching the bedrails while a nurse removed the clothing from the lower half of his body.

"You're ice cold. I'll get more blankets."

She disappeared briefly giving Greg the opportunity to see the damage himself.

"Jesus, no wonder." His whole leg was swollen. It wasn't just his thigh screaming.

The nurse came back with two extra blankets and Cindy in tow.

"Wow, you weren't kidding," She walked past the nurse and ran her finger along the scar tissue.

"Hey, get the hell out of here!" House was outraged and mortified.

"Well, that's gratitude for ya," Cindy turned on her heels and stormed out.

"And YOU! Ever hear of patient confidentiality?"

"I just assu-"

"I don't even know her!"

"I thought you were one of her strays," the nurse apologized as she gently laid the blankets across him.

"A stray," House snorted.

"Yep, Cindy's got a good heart. She just can't leave people laying in the gutter."

"I wasn't in the gutter."

"Pardon me," the nurse feigned embarrassment. "The street, then."

"I'm not homeless, drunk or crazy…or anyone's charity case for that matter."

The nurse moved on to checking his vitals again. "Calm down. You're blood pressure and heart rate are spiking."

"Have you seen the state of my leg? It might have something to do with it," he said snidely.

"Aside from acerbic wit and indignation, is there anything else you'd like to add to your history? No? Then the doctor will be in shortly."

Greg waited in the curtained cubby hole with one wish: to be out of pain. He didn't care if it was hydrocodone, oxycontin or a ball ping hammer to the head. After a year of being Vicodin free, it was all he wanted now.

The front curtain flew open surprising him. "Mr. House, I'm Dr. Radcliffe. How ya doin' tonight?"

House pursed his lips to keep from saying something mean.

The attending took it as a sign that the patient was in a considerable amount of pain and possibly irate. He had heard that Cindy had gotten thrown out of the room already. Now he had to try getting permission to have her come back in.

"I work with an elite team of orthopedic specialists. One of them is with me tonight. Would it be okay if she came in?"

"It's you're hospital." '_That'd be the day I ask if one of my team could sit in_,' Greg thought.

The doctor poked his head out the curtain, "Come on in."

Cindy entered tentatively. "Hey," she said sheepishly while waving her hand at Greg.

He felt the slightest smile stretch his lips. "You could have told me you were a nurse."

"I told you I was trained," she shrugged. "And I'm not a nurse. I'm an Ortho Tech."

"Well, after I was called a stray, I thought you might have been a veterinarian."

"Nope. Cindy has a bit of a 'knight in shining armor' complex. Let's see what we got." Radcliff peeled the blankets away to expose House's banged up leg. "That's one hell of a nasty scar. Looks old."

"A little over a decade," Greg flinched as the doctor's hands approached his thigh.

"I haven't even touched you yet."

"I don't like it to be touched."

"Sir, if I'm going to check you out, I have to touch your leg."

"Fine," Greg sighed heavily as he white knuckled the side rails. He focused his attention on the ceiling. The doctor's touch was surprisingly gentle.

"Spasms in all three muscle heads," he mumbled to Cindy who was taking notes in House's chart. "Do you have any pain in your groin?"

Before Greg could answer, the doctor was palpating dangerously close to his family jewels. "Nope." His voice was a little higher than usual.

The doctor moved to his hip. "Mild tenderness around the ilapsoas. Tendons feel stringy and inflamed. We'll take x-rays of the hip and pelvic girdle just to be safe." He spoke to Cindy and the patient at the same time.

"I'm going to move down to your knee."

Greg ventured a response. "Good, 'cause I thought you were going to grab my ass next."

That garnered a smile from both of them as Radcliff pulled back the blanket so he could compare both knees. "Does your knee usually swell like this when you're thigh is in spasm?"

House looked at his knees. "Nope."

Again the gentle touch revealed tenderness and inflammation. Greg was weirded out when the doctor moved his knee cap in the most unnatural way.

"Any pain?"

"Just sore."

"Feels a little arthritic. We'll take a look at that too, while we're at it."

"I know where you're going next, and if you touch it, I swear, you'll be peeling me off the ceiling. So you better give me something to take off the edge."

"Don't need to palpate that to tell you it's broken. Gonna move right to the ankle and see if it's broken there too."

Greg hissed and grimaced as the doctor manipulated his lower leg. He knew it had to be done; he just didn't understand why they wouldn't give him anything for the pain yet.

"Sorry about that, but I can't give you anything for pain just yet. I've got a call in to Dr. Nolan to discuss my options."

"He's going to tell you no opioids. I'm stuck with NSAIDS." House didn't even wonder how they knew to call his shrink.

"There are some other alternatives we can discuss once I run them by him. I just want to make sure we weigh the pros and cons of potential side effects."

"I understand. I don't like it, but I get it." Greg leaned back and tried to relax his upper body. When he wasn't guarding, the pain was intolerable.

"How's your head?" Cindy reviewed his chart for preliminary notes on his arrival.

"Fine."

"You cracked your skull, too? Not having a very good night, are you?"

"When I fall down, I like to make a good show of it."

"He had a knot just below his bald spot," Cindy teased.

"I do not have a bald spot!"

"If you say so."

Dr. Radcliffe had moved his probing hands to House's head.

"Are you going to tell me you have a sub-specialty in phrenology?"

"No depressions, but we should throw it on the list, just to be on the safe side."

Cindy nodded and did some more writing.

"Anywhere else?"

"Isn't that enough," House asked with exasperation.

"Sit tight. As soon as I hear back from Dr. Nolan, we'll get you as comfortable as possible before we start moving you around."

"I ain't going anywhere," Greg sighed heavily. He resigned himself to the fact that no matter how much he needed the nice hazy, fluffy fuzziness of a drug induced numbness, he wasn't going to get it. He was in for a long night of pain and uncertainty. No sense in taking it out on the staff. That would require energy he didn't have.


	3. Missing

Missing

Wilson's dinner date was a bust. He was completely distracted, and once his date found out why, it was over. He felt himself lucky to get a date with anyone who had even remotely heard of Gregory House, MD-asshole extraordinaire. He had to promise her he wouldn't take any calls or mention House's name while they were together. James thought it would be easy. House had changed just enough after his stint at Mayfield that he was no longer the first priority. It was so good, in fact, that Greg was released back into the wilds of Baker Street. They had boundaries now.

Or so he thought. Greg's call had initially pissed him off. If felt like they were falling into old habits. Their conversation was short. "Need you." James even told him he didn't sound right. _Flat affect._ He said he was in pain. A vague statement for House. _Said with flat affect. _Maybe he was out of Ibuprofen. Maybe he was out of antidepressants too. All he wanted was for Wilson to stop off at the pharmacy and pick them up.

And what had he said? "_Take a bath." _He scolded himself for being so foolish and selfish. He had let his friend suffer for two hours just to have dinner with a woman he was only physically attracted to.

He called House's cell. It rang four times before going to voicemail. "It's Wilson, I'm going to try your home phone." He got the same reception there. It was very possible House was sulking. Wilson decided to head over before going home.

When he drove down Baker Street he looked for House's car. It was there. The apartment, however, looked very dark. James was worried about his friend. Even if he was sleeping, he'd knock and make sure Greg was alright. See if he needed anything. Worst case scenario, he'd use the spare key on the lintel.

To his chagrin the apartment was empty. A real conundrum for Wilson since his friend "needed him" and was "in pain". _Probably walked over to the nearest bar to get hammered._

"Nah, not in this crap," he mumbled to himself trudging through the slush and ice. James went to see if he was in the car. Nothing. He turned back to face the building, pulling out his cell phone again. "Where in the hell are you," he said aloud as the connection was made. He could hear the phone ringing in both ears. Something wasn't right.

Maybe it fell out of his coat pocket into the car. He called the number again, pulling the phone away from his head so he could listen with both ears. The ring tone was further away. He kept calling using this weird echo location until he found House's cell on the curb.

"I guess he did drop it," he mused. That thought was quickly followed by "why isn't he home?" James was beginning to worry. _Where could House have gone?_

He was standing next to his car, dumbfounded, when of the neighbors got into a vehicle to leave. There was an odd 'crunch' a 'pop' that startled both Wilson and the driver.

The guy got out of his car to see what he had run over. "What the-" He extracted a mangled back pack from under the rear wheel.

Wilson's eyes widened with horror. He ran across the street, slipping and sliding until he steadied himself on the car. He was on his knees in seconds looking under the vehicle. "House…House?"

"Unless your dog or cat was in this knapsack, I'm pretty sure I didn't run him over. This must belong to that dude."

Wilson recognized the now shattered cane splintered against the curb. "Oh God," he clutched at his chest, his breathing ragged, knees weak. He sank to a sitting position on the curb.

"Mister, are you having a heart attack?"

James looked up at him hopefully. "Did anything happen out here tonight? Police cars, ambulances, anything like that?"

"Well there were no flashing lights that I heard or saw. But a dude did get laid out in the street."

"When?" 

"A couple of hours ago. I just got home from work and was picking up my mail when I saw it."

"What did you see?" Wilson was back on his feet and anxious.

"Some chick putting the dude in her SUV."

"Why didn't she call for help?"

The guy shrugged. "Dunno. Maybe she hit him and decided she could get him to a hospital faster.

Wilson threw his hands in the air and began pacing. He was trying to wrap his mind around what the neighbor had said, but his brain kept sending images of his friend laying unconscious in the middle of the street.


	4. No Pain, No Gain

No Pain No Gain

"Dr. Nolan finally called back. I've got some good news and some bad news." Dr. Radcliffe tried to remain positive.

"I'm ready," House steeled himself for whatever news as a nurse entered with a tray of medical apparatus.

"Based on your history, we're kind of limited with pain medication. We're even prohibited with some muscle relaxers and sedatives due to side effects. We risk respiratory and cardiac issues as well as potential blood clots. Wouldn't be a good idea to sacrifice leg pain for death.

"We'll monitor your heart and lungs closely."

The nursed placed sticky patches on Greg's chest, then plugged the leads into the cardiac monitor. The sound of House's heart beat steadily, if not a bit fast. Mostly likely it was due to the pain he was experiencing. She affixed a pulse ox to his finger as well.

When the nurse headed towards his nether region, he got nervous. "What are you doing?" He asked even though he knew what she was about to do.

"I have to get this rubber tube into your bladder," she said while making a show of lubing the catheter. "Then we won't have to change you and the sheets ever five minutes."

Greg looked over to the doctor. "What would be the bad news," he grimaced while the rubber tubing snaked it's way up his urethra.

"Once we get you sedated, we'll take you down to radiology and go from there."

Greg watched as the nurse started his I.V., then injected what he assumed was a muscle relaxant. He couldn't wait for something to happen.

"See you after I get the films," Radcliffe promised as his patient's eyes sagged.

The next time he opened his eyes, Greg was exactly where he had started.

"How was it? We didn't torture you too badly, I hope." Radcliffe was charting and looking at other various papers in the file.

"Huh?"

"Good, you were out for most of it. So there's no concussion. Your brain is intact. Your hip and knee are starting to show signs of wear and tear; but hey, you're fifty-something. That's relatively normal."

"That sounds like good news. So while am I feeling next to nothings You had better lay the bad news on me."

"You broke your fibula in two places. Opposite ends, as a matter of fact. That must have been one hell of a wipeout."

"You gonna do surgery?" Greg was feeling less content.

"I'm going to try a closed reduction first. The fractures aren't through any joints, so we should be able to pull it back together."

House groaned. "That sounds unpleasant. Can we get it over with now?"

"Cindy's down in the casting room getting everything ready. Once reinforcements arrive, we'll take you down and start inflicting the torture."

Dr. Radcliffe exited as two large orderlies came to roll House and the equipment away. As they wheeled him down the corridor Greg felt a little woozy. Time and movement seemed to warp forward and back until the group burst into a room with a bit of pomp and circumstance.

"Finally, you're here." Cindy was gloved up and wearing an apron. "Hope you've got a nice little buzz going on."

Greg didn't like the way that sounded. Before he could realize it, he was transferred to a cold, metal table. His hands instinctively reached for his leg, something that already had multiple hands supporting it.

"Okay, let's get this party started," Radcliffe announced.

The two orderlies took opposite sides of the table. One lay across House's upper body, pinning his arms and torso. The other used his upper strength to pin his left leg. Cindy had him near the right knee, the doctor was at his foot. Greg took purchase on whatever his hands could grab.

Two almost imperceptible nods preceded the white hot searing pain that blinding him. He was screaming, the monitors were screeching, and yet no one stopped.

The goon on his chest eased up. "Take a breath man."

"Almost there," Cindy called out. She knew one more yank and the other end and his fibula would pop into place.

For Greg it was more like a grind and a snap. He was gasping for air by the time it was all done.

"Sorry we had to do that to you." Dr. Radcliffe approached him once the orderlies left. He checked the monitors, resetting the alarms. "The worst is over. Take a couple of deep breaths."

House did as instructed. His breaths were shaky as his heart pounded like it was trying to beat its way out of his chest. Sweat trickled down his brow as he tried to regulate his vitals. Cindy approached his head and he made as if to shrug away.

"Let me do this," she pleaded softly while patting away the perspiration around his face and neck, switching it out for a colder cloth before draping it across his brow. His breathing evened out, pulse dropping to an acceptable rate.

"Onward then," Radcliffe announced. "Greg, before we start, I've got a couple of questions. When your thigh goes into spasm, is your knee straight or bent?"

Greg had to think about it. When he woke up with a spasm, his knee was almost always at a natural angle. He'd rub at the muscles in order to straighten it out. "Slightly bent."

"We're going to stabilize your leg a little differently than we normally would. Hopefully we can cut down on some of the spasms."

House sighed deeply. Had his ears deceived him? Someone was actually going to try something to alleviate some of the pain? A contented smile settled on his face as a stream of tears left the corners of his eyes.


	5. Frantic

Frantic

Lisa Cuddy rant into the PPTH lobby toting a fussy Rachel on her hip. House always seemed to inconvenience her when the nanny was off. So why should this time be any different? She bypassed Reception and her office moving straight for the elevators.

Wilson's call sounded more like a prank than anything else. She could hardly understanding what he was saying. The only intelligible words were 'House needs us'. Wilson's overly excited, agitated state was the only reason she agreed to come back to work. Fear that James Wilson was having a psychotic break was more nerve wracking than when it happened to House. Everyone expected something like that from him. But Wilson…he was solid as a rock.

Lisa was prepared to go into Wilson's office when she noticed House's conference room light was on. Curiosity got the better of her.

"What's going on?" She burst through the door with Rachel still fussing on her hip.

Wilson sat at the table - a disheveled mess. His eyes were glassy, his hands shaking as he tried to bring a mug of tea to his lips. Dr. Hadley was standing behind him, her hand on his shoulder. Wilson said nothing, just stared at a blank spot a few feet away on the table.

Remy gave Cuddy a little head not to meet her out of ear shot. Lisa put Rachel down next to Wilson and met the doctor at the coffee pot.

"He's a wreck."

"What happened? I couldn't understand anything he said over the phone."

"I don't know. I stayed late to finish up some paperwork. A friend in ER paged me to tell me he had come in looking for House."

"In the ER?"

Remy shrugged. "He was babbling."

Cuddy turned back to look at Wilson. Rachel was cuddled in his arms. He was rocking her. Lisa eased over to the table and took a seat.

After a couple of minutes he blinked a few times and realized she was there. "Something terrible has happened to House."

Lisa wasn't sure how to take it. Perhaps James was delusional. "What do you think happened?" She moved closer, putting her hand on his elbow.

"The phone was at the curb. His knapsack and cane under a car."

If it was a delusion, she could handle it. But if it was something Wilson had stumbled upon…

"His neighbor said an SUV hit him."

Remy dropped her mug and it shattered.

_God, please let this be a delusion_. Cuddy breathed more quickly.

"What happens next," she asked softly.

"The driver puts him in the vehicle, then leaves." Wilson dropped his arms as if he went numb.

Cuddy reached out just in time to keep Rachel from falling.

"Why don't you take Wilson to his office so he can lay down for a while. I'm going to make some calls."

When Remy returned, Cuddy was on the phone yelling.

"…What do you mean I have to wait forty-eight hours! If I can get you the name and address of the witness, will you look into it then? And what am I supposed to do, call every hospital and clinic within a ten mile radius? What do you mean twenty-five! Of course I don't have a license plate number. Are you not listening? I am calm! Fine. Until then we'll look for him ourselves."

Cuddy slammed the phone down, scaring her daughter. Rachel burst into tears frazzling what was left of her mother's nerves.

"I have an idea," Remy interrupted. "If House," she didn't want to confirm Wilson's fears but had to say it, "If he's in a hospital, or jail…or whatever, maybe, just maybe he had his pill bottle with him. They could feasibly have called his psychiatrist."

"I knew there was a reason I told him to hire you. Will you watch Rachel for me while I go to my office?"


	6. Ethics

Ethics

Dr. Darryl Nolan's pager was vibrating on the coffee table again. He looked at it wearily. Once received a call about Greg House, he was sure there'd be more. He was hoping for a positive report; yet in his gut he dreaded making the call to his service. Greg was still fragile when it came to needing and asking for help. This accident could set him back years, mentally and physically.

"Nolan," he spoke to the automated system. "Three two three seven eight." Once beyond the access code he was able to retrieve his message. It was not the doctor he expected.

He thought long and hard about what he was going to say to Dr. Cuddy. The situation was delicate. Obviously Greg didn't choose Princeton- Plainsboro for his care, but Nolan wasn't exactly sure why. He just knew that Greg had a history with this woman. And from her call, she was truly worried. Tentatively he dialed the number she left.

"Dr. Cuddy, Dr. Nolan returning your call."

Lisa relaxed a bit upon hearing his voice before spewing out what Wilson had discovered and Thirteen's theory.

Although Dr. Cuddy spoke succinctly and quickly, Darryl actually realized he was grinning. He could have sworn she said that House was kidnapped.

"Lisa, you're overexciting yourself. Take a deep breath."

Cuddy found his voice soothing and willingly followed his instructions.

"It was good thinking on-"

"Thirteen. Dr. Hadley"

"On Dr. Hadley's part. I did receive a phone call on Greg's behalf. I can inform you that he is safe and has not been kid-abducted." He was still amused that House's colleagues would think he was kidnapped. Why it struck him oddly he didn't know. Greg had made enemies over the years, but holding him for ransom seemed like it would be more of a burden for the kidnapper than Greg.

Lisa Cuddy went from frantic to frustrated. "Then you can tell me where he is."

"No ma'am, I cannot." Nolan was not terse, just matter-of-fact.

"Dr. Nolan, as House's physician, I have every right to know his condition."

"Dr. Cuddy, if Greg didn't call you, there must be a reason." Darryl now understood why Greg had more than his fair share of boundary issues.

"Did he ask you NOT to contact me?" Cuddy was hurt by his statement but still found the chutzpah to ask.

"Dr. Cuddy, you and I both know that some of the information I have about Greg is privileged and confidential. I will be more than happy to fax you a letter in the morning."

"I'll be looking for it."

The irritation was clear in her voice. Although Greg did not leave specific instructions as to how to handle his situation with his boss and colleagues, Darryl felt the least he could do was tell them he wouldn't be coming to work for a while.


	7. Lone Wolf

Lone Wolf

Cindy crept into the semi-private room not wanting to disturb it's current occupant. He seemed to be sleeping, but it wasn't easy to tell until she was close enough to watch the rise and fall of his chest and the monitors. She was about to leave when he opened his eyes and cleared his throat.

"Oh, hey. How ya feeling?"

"Crappy." Greg inhaled deeply, trying to wake up.

"How's the leg feel?" Cindy squeezed his toes to check capillary refill.

"Lower leg is throbbing."

"Expected. How about your toes. Cold? Numb?"

He wiggled them. "Still attached."

"That's good. Your thigh?"

"Not bad. Not good either, but tolerable." He watched Cindy chart notes. "What time is it?"

She checked her watch. "A little after eleven thirty."

"Hmm. I suppose it's too late to get food." He rubbed his stomach, acknowledging his hunger pangs.

"I just happened to be on lunch myself. Thought you might be hungry, so I went in search of something edible."

"Something out of a vending machine?"

"You eat anything of that and you'll end up in ICU." Cindy rummaged through her little lunch cooler. "I had to get a little inventive." She put her bag on the tray table and rolled it over to the bed. "I got some strained peas, pureed carrots, mashed 'taters, applesauce and…tada! Chocolate pudding."

"Don't suppose you've got a bottle of bourbon in there?"

She smirked. "Milk. It does a body good." The last thing she pulled out was two half pints of moo juice.

"Not much for that stuff."

"Come on," she said enticingly, "it's good for ya."

"Nothing solid here." House didn't think any of the appetizers or desserts were going to sate his hunger.

"Not a good idea. Swallowing, digestion, all that good stuff surrounding eating are also slowed down by the muscled relaxants." Cindy opened the veggies first, placing a spoon on the table.

House found his coordination a little off. He was instantly frustrated by his inability to get the spoon into the food. Getting it out and to his mouth was going to be near impossible. He gave up the minute the first spoonful splattered on his chest.

"Here, let me help."

"Forget it."

"Jeez, are you always so stubborn?" Cindy began cleaning him up.

He pushed her hands away. "Don't."

"I'm just trying to help."

"I don't need your help," he snapped.

"Uh, yeah, you do, so get over yourself." She scooped up some mush and headed for his mouth.

"I'm not an invalid."

"Never said you were."

"Then why are you treating me like one?"

"I'm treating you like a patient who is currently on medication that practically paralyzes him. Are you, or are you not hungry?"

She was tough. And she made sense. "Yes," he opened his mouth begrudgingly.

Once they finished, Cindy left the room briefly and returned with a fresh gown.

"I'm okay with this one. It's just a few spots." In reality Greg didn't want to be fully exposed.

"Don't be so shy." She went to pull back the blanket but he tried to resist. "For goodness sakes, I've already seen you naked."

Greg conceded. He was shocked when Cindy only pulled the blanket down to his waist. She removed the gown, pulling the IV bag off the pole and through the sleeve. She reversed the process to get the clean gown on.

Cindy reached under the blanket for the bottom of the gown at his waist, pulling it down without ever exposing him. "Happy?"

"Ecstatic." Greg was grateful for her modesty. He hated being in such a vulnerable state.

"Are you sure I can't call anyone for you or get you anything?"

"No. I'm a lone wolf. I fend for myself."

"Sometimes a lone wolf has to take any scraps offered. My pack's pretty generous. Our alpha likes to keep us growing and strong."

"I'll make some calls in the morning."

"Okay. Then you should probably get some rest. I'll check in before my shift ends."

Greg nodded and closed his eyes.


	8. MLOA

Medical Leave of Absence

Lisa Cuddy entered the hospital looking fresh as a daisy but feeling like hell. The only reason she was on time this morning was the promise of Dr. Nolan's fax.

It sat there on the fax machine waiting to be read. Lisa snatched it up and headed to her desk.

It was on official Mayfield letterhead from the desk of Dr. Nolan and dated yesterday.

'Effective immediately Gregory House is to place on a medical leave of absence. Unforeseen events have led to the need for a change in his pain management regimen that will require inpatient care. Treatment protocols may take up to two weeks before an assessment can be made. At that time we will re-evaluate and update you as to his status of returning to work.'

A million questions presented in Cuddy's head. Had he fallen back on Vicodin? If he was 'hit by a car' as Wilson proclaimed, was it accidental? Maybe he simply called Nolan and dropped his belongings on the curb waiting for help to arrive. Was that why he hadn't chosen to seek help at PPTH? The reason he neglected to call her or Wilson?

Cuddy was sure the Board would be dissatisfied with the lack of an explanation. His original leave at Mayfield was unanimously applauded and approved by the Board members. If they thought he had gone back on drugs or had another breakdown, they would surely terminate his contract, tenured or not.

Since she didn't expect Wilson in any time soon, she made copies of the letter for the Board members then headed up to Diagnostics.

Foreman was in early, sipping coffee and reading a journal. He looked up at Cuddy as she slipped into a seat across from him.

"What's up?"

"Has House been acting strange lately?"

"House is always strange. Why?"

Cuddy handed him the letter. "Have you noticed anything different - unusual? Any irritability beyond the norm? Anything that might indicate he's had increased leg pain?"

Foreman perused the letter. "Nothing out of the ordinary."

"You're going to have to oversee the department again."

He put the letter down. "No thanks."

"I know that the last time things got…sticky."

"Let Chase do it."

"If I thought he could handle it, I would. You're more like House than you want to believe, but smart enough not to be reckless. You'll take necessary risks and won't be afraid to be wrong."

"And Taub and Remy?"

Cuddy shifted awkwardly in her seat. "Considering the history between you and Dr. Hadley, I'm going to give her the option of working under you or taking a temporary position in a different department."

"That seems fair."

"I'd like to talk to them individually, so if you could have them come to my office as they get in-"

"Don't worry, I won't pull a power trip."

"And if you see Wilson," she hesitated half way out the door.

"I'll send him down, too."


	9. CIA?

CIA?

Greg managed to sleep through the night and beyond the morning shift change. He briefly remembered having someone ease a thermometer in his mouth and checking his vitals at some point, but he hadn't even opened his eyes at the time. The nursing assistant had been gentle and quiet.

Food service, on the other hand, dropped his breakfast tray on the table in front of him, startling him to wakefulness. On a normal day, that knee jerk response would have cost him. This wasn't a normal day. If it weren't for the fact he was hospitalized, he would have said it was a good day.

Well…almost. There was definitely a need to perform at least one bodily function. _Damn._ Reluctantly he pressed the call button.

"I'll be right in," a disembodied voice echoed out of the walls.

In a matter of seconds a nurse came in. "What do you need?"

"Gotta potty."

"You have a catheter in. It only feels like you have to urinate."

"Huh."

"It's probably the sedation." She made notes in his chart then took the cover off his breakfast tray.

"I'm not hungry," he said feebly.

"Non-negotiable. You have to at least suck down the liquids. Doctor's orders."

"What on there that's liquid."

"Decaf coffee, milk and juice."

"What's on there that's solid?"

"Oatmeal."

"Dump the milk in the coffee and the juice in the oatmeal."

"I thought you weren't hungry," the nurse teased.

"None of this stuff is ingestible as a stand-alone. If I didn't think it would look and taste like vomit, I'd tell you to dump it all in one bowl."

She only did half of what he asked. "I'm going to raise you up to a sitting position." It was much easier for her to get the tray close. "What do you want to start with?"

"There's not much of a choice."

"Glop it is." The nurse loaded up a spoon and put it in his hand.

Greg appreciated her allowing him to at least try to feed himself. He was shaky but he made it to his mouth. He was a little concerned that the simple task exhausted him and wondered if muscle relaxants were the whole cause. He made a mental note to ask his doctor.

"Thought you weren't hungry," the nurse moved his tray away.

"It wasn't as bad as I expected." House stifled a yawn. "When's the doctor due in?"

"He's on grand rounds now."

"Do I have time to call my boss and tell her I won't be into work?"

"Someone's already done that for you." The nurse flipped through his chart. "Seems Dr. Darryl Nolan sent a fax this morning."

"Huh." Greg was surprised Cuddy and crew hadn't tried to have him transferred to Princeton-Plainsboro. Maybe the paperwork was being processed.

"I know I'm not supposed to ask, but do you work for the government?"

House smirked. "What makes you think that?"

"You're employer's name and address has been blacked out."

"Well, if I told you, I'd have to kill you."

"And your condition is completely glossed over as," she used air quotes, "a change in pain management."

Greg made a mental note to thank Nolan first chance he got. "That's not a lie."

"It's just weird."

'_At least I don't have to make any phone calls,'_ Greg thought. "I like weird."


	10. Sword of Damocles

Sword of Damocles

Thirteen was the last of the Fellows to arrive at work. The first thing she noticed was House was missing and the boys looked very somber for the morning. When she entered the conference room Taub , who had just come back from Cuddy's office, spoke up.

"The Queen Kamehameha wants to see you in the Tiki Room."

"Where's the Big Kahuna?" Thirteen walked past them to get herself a cup of coffee. She kept it casual, pretending she didn't know anything.

"Waikiki."

"Let's hope he gets lei'd." Remy walked out curious as to what Cuddy had found out about House.

"Have a seat," the Dean of Medicine showed her to the sofa. "Kudos on recommending I contact House's shrink." She handed her the fax.

Remy scanned it quickly. "It doesn't really say much."

"I find that worrisome. God only knows what's going on." Lisa made herself comfortable on the couch. "Wilson won't be in for a few hours. I figure after some sleep he might be more coherent."

"Do you think Wilson can get anything out of the neighbors?"

"He's too nice."

"Do you want me to check things out?"

Cuddy wasn't sure how to answer that. "Let's leave the covert operations on hold for now. I wanted to talk to you about what's going to happen in the next few weeks."

Remy felt her stomach turn sour. She sipped her coffee to avoid making a comment.

"Based on what happened the last time Dr. Foreman was in charge, I thought it would be best to offer you an alternative."

Remy nodded. "Was this Eric's idea?"

"No, not at all. Of course I did tell him of my plan when I asked him to run the department."

"What was his reaction?"

"He didn't want the job."

"You could have asked someone else." Remy hid behind the coffee mug again.

"I would have asked you," Lisa said hesitantly.

"But…"

"But there'd be a coup." Cuddy threw her hands up in the air. "You know the boys' egos couldn't handle it."

"I don't want to leave Diagnostics, but when House is not there, it's as if I'm invisible."

Cuddy walked over to her desk and retrieved a file. "That's why I'm offering you several options." She handed Dr. Hadley the file.

"When do I have to make a decision?" Remy tucked the folder under her arm as she prepared to return to the fourth floor.

"I'm not making you decide until you feel you need to make a decision. I want you to keep your options open."

Remy simply nodded in understanding. She exited the office only to turn on her heels. "I'd like to be here when you talk with Wilson."


	11. Spies Like Us

Spies Like Us

Greg was a little perturbed when the doctor didn't show up for rounds. He didn't think he needed to be on as much medication as he was. He didn't like the way it made him feel. No only that, he wanted to be released. He figured they had kept him overnight for observation, but at this rate he could be here much longer than necessary.

He waited for what seemed like another hour before calling the nurse.

"Yes, Mr. House, what can we do for you?" Again the voice seemed to come out of everywhere.

"I'd like to see my doctor."

"Are you in pain?"

"No, just annoyed."

Greg could hear many people laughing out in the hall. At PPTH the nurses never enjoyed his witticisms. This place wasn't all that bad, as hospitals go.

A young, brunette nurse entered the room moments later. "We've got a call into Dr. Radcliffe. In the meantime, let's get you more comfortable." She did all the things nurses usually do to put patients at ease, then took his vitals.

House hadn't paid much attention to how often his own patients' vitals were updated, they just always seemed to be there when he needed to know. Now he knew why. Every two to four hours someone was shoving a thermometer in his mouth. Thankfully even his blood pressure was monitored by machine or someone would be over inflating the cuff, insulting his arm as well. No wonder his charges never seemed rested.

By the time the second nurse came into help the first boost him up the bed and rearrange the pillows under his head and leg, Greg was exhausted. A nap sounded perfect. But his eyes were barely closed when Dr. Radcliffe walked in.

"Sorry I didn't stop by this morning. I purposely left you off grand rounds."

House's face must have registered surprise because the doctor felt he had to explain himself.

"I gave a brief history of the 'patient' and the focus on treatment options changed into a debate on - well, never mind. The point is, can't change the past, so let's not bore the patient with it."

"They wanted to know more about the treatment for the infarction?"

"Specifically why your surgeon didn't amputate the whole leg. The last thing you need in dumb questions."

"Thanks for sparing me," Greg nodded in acknowledgement.

"Well, I also know that you're trying to keep a low profile. I was afraid one of them might recognize you and blow your cover."

"I appreciate it. I'm kind of liking the anonymity. Especially since the nursing staff believes I'm some kind of government spy."

"That's precious. The Residents think you're a former Olympic marathon runner."

"Where'd they get that idea?"

The doctor shrugged. "I dunno, maybe it had something to do with my asking why a person would opt for partial muscle amputation over total amputation. Someone suggestion the Olympian thing. I didn't say you weren't."

Greg was smirking. At least he thought he was. "The reason I wanted to see you was about the meds."

"Are you experiencing pain or spasms?"

"Nah, nothing like that. It's just the opposite. I'm too weak to even feed myself. I was wondering if we could ease off on the dosage."

"Ultimately I'd like to wean you off of them completely. But for now we'll step down gradually and assess the pain levels."

House nodded that he understood.

"There are also a few courses of treatment available to help with the pain of spasms. I don't know if you'd be interested."

"If you're talking physio and visualizing the healing, no thanks. I've gone that route. There's been no new regeneration in over a decade."

"There are a few alternatives that may help with improved circulation and one that, used long term, could alleviate spasming. None of them involve drugs."

"Great 'cause the Vicodin all but fried my liver and the Ibuprofen is rotting a hole in my stomach."

"We wouldn't be able to do anything until sometime tomorrow afternoon at the earliest. There's a test we'd like to do, but we have to figure out a way to get to your thigh muscles without disturbing the fracture sites."

"I'm good…as long as you're not going to poke any holes in me."

"I promise, once the EMG is done, we'll refrain from any further holes."


	12. Spies Like Us II

Spies Like Us II

Wilson pulled into the exact same spot he had taken on Baker Street the night before. Remy Hadley sat in the passenger seat trying to keep still after being admonished by the driver for the worst case of back seat driving he had ever encountered.

"So this neighbor, do you remember what kind of car he had?" Remy exited the Lexus not quite sure where they were going to start.

Wilson followed suit, scanning the cars along the opposite curb. He waited for traffic to clear before crossing the street. "We're a bit early. The guy said he had gotten home around - well he never said what time, but it must have been about five thirty-ish. That's usually what time House gets home."

Remy followed him to where he surmised the neighbor's car had been parked. "Did you see which way the guy approached from?"

Wilson stopped walking and looked toward the general area where things had transpired. He was taking the time to remember all the details - things that didn't seem important at the time.

"I was standing outside of House's car. It was a little ahead of where I parked." His mind's eye replayed the events again. _Did he even see the guy?_ His back was turned, looking into House's car. _A reflection in the window?_ "He came from behind the vehicle."

Remy walked toward the first apartment complex that had steps beyond where they were standing. "We could start by looking at mailboxes."

"He said he had been getting his mail."

"Well, that'll narrow it down a bit. There are only a few buildings where the mailboxes are near enough to a door that you could see the street."

"We may not have to do much detective work then."

"It's too cold to just stand here and wait. I'm going to see if there are any names on the call box that indicate a gender."

Wilson looked at his watch. Only five fifteen. "This is insane. We're waiting around for someone that might not come to find out something that might not have happened."

"Fine, then you stand around and wait for the mystery neighbor while I go check out House's apartment. Maybe he went in and came back out before whatever-" Remy was a little frustrated by Wilson's inability to commit and focus on the task at hand. "Maybe I'll find a clue."

"Okay," Wilson said hesitantly.

Remy was happy to leave him behind. She needed some time away from the negative vibe he was giving off. She wasn't really expecting to find anything in the apartment.

On approaching the stoop, she noted House's next door neighbor was home. His neighbor might be able to provide some interesting insights. The door opened against its chain lock almost immediately as she knocked.

"Hey, sorry to bother you." She stopped speaking abruptly as the neighbor peered round the door which was ajar.

"What can I do for you?"

Remy floundered a bit. "Uh, my friend…well, he's actually my boss, lives across the hall. He got into some trouble last night, and I was wondering if you saw or heard anything."

"I know nothing." She slammed the door shut, an audible clunk of the deadbolt followed.

"Nice to chat with you."

When her back was turned as she opened House's door with the hidden key, the neighbor called out through her door. "I've called the police."

"Good," Remy shouted back. "Maybe they'll do something for a change."

"I warned you," the muffled voice called out again.

Thirteen opened the door, walked in and turned to face the neighbor's door. Just by that simple action of looking out her peephole to see what the intruder did next, Remy knew that she was a relatively nosey neighbor. "I'm betting you didn't call the cops now, just like you didn't call anyone last night when a guy got hit by a car right outside your front window." She slammed House's door shut.


	13. Testing 123 Testing

Testing…1, 2, 3, Testing

Two male orderlies rolled a gurney into House's room late in the afternoon. Greg was a little wary. The last time to big guys took him anywhere, he had to be restrained by their bodies. He was so distracted by the goons, he missed the short, muscular woman who followed close behind.

"Hey there, Greg. Got an MRI available, so we thought we'd stick you in and see what we can see." Cindy removed the monitoring gear from his chest and arms.

"Dr. Radcliffe never mentioned an MRI. What are you looking for?"

"Hmm. We want to rule out any possible disc issues, spinal stenosis, stuff like that."

"Why, what did you see in the X-rays?" Greg was getting nervous.

"It's what you can't see in an X-ray that causes a need for an MRI," Cindy stated matter-of-factly.

"I've had dozens of MRIs since the infarction. Nobody's looked at my back or joints. Just the thigh muscles," Greg tried to sound indignant.

"Well they were looking for different things. Ready?" She shoved the consent form in front of him.

Greg signed without further ado and was transferred for his ride down to Radiology.

As he lay in the tube listening to it knock and rumble, he felt a pang of loneliness. He missed Wilson's presence since he was usually the one who talked House into a scan of his thigh when the pain was worsening. It was Wilson who gave him the results as well. Now he'd be given a glossed over version by the tech and would have to wait to speak to a real doctor to get the true results.

"How ya doin' in there?" She had the patient's face on the screen. He was starting to look uncomfortable.

"Hanging in there."

"This is going to take about another ten minutes or so. Are you up for it?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Always." Cindy powered down the machine. She entered the main room and hit the button that would slide the table out.

"Thought you needed ten more minutes."

"You looked like you needed a break. Besides, I think we've got a pretty good look at what we need. I'm going to get the films to the doc, and I'll be up to talk to ya shortly after that."

"Social visit?" Concern was creeping up on Greg.

"If you want. Got lots of questions for ya," she waggled her eyebrows.

He managed a weak smile, but his mind was elsewhere. Did they find something? What kind of questions? House thought it might be a good time to have a friend around.


	14. Unknown

UNKNOWN

Thirteen's phone was ringing away in her pocket. Every time she looked to see who was calling, the display read: unknown. Remy figured it was a telemarketer trying to hit her up after works hours, but the persistent calls didn't stop. It had to be a computer calling her every fifteen minutes. And every time her phone rang, she had the urge to throw it against the ground and stomp on it.

The final straw came when she left House's apartment no less the wiser. Wilson walked towards her with his shoulders hunched in defeat.

"Looks like we hit a dead end," Thirteen frowned.

"I have half a mind to call Nolan and give him hell. What if House needs us?"

"I'm sure he'd call."

Wilson shook his head negatively. "Not if he's at Mayfield. He man not get phone privileges. And if he did, he'd be using a pay phone.

Remy felt her stomach turn. _Of course he didn't have his cell phone!_ But she was pretty sure he hadn't bothered to memorize her number.

"What's the matter?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. I was just wondering how House would remember phone numbers if he didn't have his cell with him."

"Oh." Wilson opened the car door for her. "He's pretty good with memorizing numbers that are valuable to him. That and he carries a cheat sheet in his wallet."

Thirteen dropped into her seat and dug out her phone before buckling up. I had almost been fifteen minutes. Her phone rang, and she nearly dropped it like a hot potato. Remy fumbled to answer it.

"Hello?"

It was Cuddy wondering what, if anything, they had found.

"We came up empty." The phone beeped in her ear signaling another incoming call. "Gotta go," she said rather tersely and hung up on the hospital administrator.

"Hello?"

"Finally! Don't you ever answer your phone?"

"You could have left a voicemail." She glanced sideways at Wilson. "Can I meet you somewhere?"

"You're not alone."

"Wilson and I are out looking for House." She felt more than heard his hesitation. "I could meet you for coffee in about an hour… I'll see you there."

Remy closed her phone and took a deep breath. She avoided Wilson by keeping her eyes on the road.

"Was that Foreman?"

"No, just a friend that's been trying to get in touch with me for the last few hours."

"You seem distressed by it," he noted.

"Just didn't think he'd be calling me. He has other friends he's closer to."

"Maybe he's at odd with them and needs your advice."

"Yeah, maybe."


	15. Oh What A Tangled Web

OH, WHAT A TANGLED WEB

Greg was having second thoughts. Dr. Remy Hadley was a decent person, but he rarely associated with his team outside of work. Occasionally he and Chase went bowling, but aside from that, he only meddled with his Fellows during work hours. He wasn't even sure why he reached out to her; he just knew that she could be objective when he needed her to be.

When she timidly entered his room, he knew it wasn't a mistake.

"This explains a lot."

"Only my absence from work."

"So did they arrest the woman who ran you down?" She did a cursory visual examination of her boss for injuries other than the obvious.

"Huh? Nevermind. Can't have any good drugs, so I'm on muscle thingies. My brain is foggy."

"Muscle thingies," Thirteen nodded in understanding. "I've heard of them. Yes, brain fog is a side effect. So I guess you're doing as well as can be expected." She wanted to reach out for his hand and offer some comfort, but with House that could backfire.

"In a little while…some medical person's gonna come in here and ask me questions." He gestured awkwardly with his hands. "What's so funny?"

Remy found it hard not to smile. It was like House was drunk. "Nothing. It's kind of cute when you're all mess up."

"Anyway," he said ignoring her comment, "I need someone to be here."

Thirteen's eyebrows arched in disbelief. "Why not Wilson…or Cuddy?" 

"I want it to be someone who doesn't have a personal interest in my life. I don't need a babysitter; I need-" 

"A friend?"

"Yeah, something like that. No personal judgments, just someone to offer sound advice on the treatment options I'm going to get."

"But House, you're one of the most brilliant doctors ever."

He held his finger to his lips. "Shhh. The only one who knows I'm a doctor is my orthopedic surgeon." He sneered evilly.

"How'd you manage to maintain this anonymity?"

"Long story," he chuckled. "But it would really humor them if you called me Double-oh-seven or Flash."

Remy just smiled along. Whatever they had given him was messing with his head. It was kind of nice to see him at ease; but at the same time, he wasn't House.

The door opened and in came Cindy, who was paying attention to her file. "So, Greg, a few questions…" she looked up and was surprised to find a visitor. "Oh, sorry."

"This is the medical person," House said as if making an introduction.

"Hi, I'm Remy Hadley, House's-"

"Thirteen's a friend of mine," he said quickly.

"Thirteen?" Cindy cocked an eyebrow curiously.

"She's bad luck."

"Gee, thanks." Remy gave him a warning look.

"Mind if I ask you a few personal, yet medically relevant questions?"

"No STDs. I haven't slept with Thirteen 'cause she's bi and I don't share."

"O-kay, then," Cindy blew out a long breath. "Not what I was going to ask."

"Sorry, whatever you've got him on is making him a little loopy."

"Yeah, sorry about that. We had to move him around a bit earlier for an MRI. He was in some discomfort so we gave him a little something to ease the pain."

"That's good. With his history it must be difficult to keep him comfortable."

"Oh good, then you know him pretty well?"

Remy nodded hesitantly.

"It's just because he's into his privacy. I don't think we've got a nearly good enough history outside of his addiction issues."

"I don't know how much help I'll be."

"Greg, is it okay if I ask you some questions while Thirteen is in the room?"

"I invited her, didn't I?"

Remy found herself in an awkward position. House had known he was going to be questioned about his medical history, and he chose her to be by his side when he answered. Why? She knew very little about his personal life, let alone his medical history - except for the fact that during her interviewing period she had taken a biopsy of ever one of his organs.

"Okay." Cindy raised her patient to a sitting position, pulled over the bedside chair and offered it to Remy, then sat at the edge of House's bed. "Let's start with the infarction."

She could feel the tension emanating from Greg. "What were you doing when you first felt pain?"

"I was golfing."

"Did any particular happen? Did a cleat get caught? Nobody took a pitching wedge to your thigh or anything like that?"

"Nope. Thought I strained a muscle at first."

"What did you do then?"

"The usual. Rest. Ice. Compression. Elevation. When it got worse I went to the ER."

"Smart boy."

"Hurray for me. Too bad I had an idiot for a doctor."

"When did they remove the clot?"

"Three days later, when they did an MRI and angiogram."

Cindy visibly winced. "Shit."

This was all new information to Remy. She was dismayed by the time delay in diagnosing. Had they found the clot sooner… She shook the thoughts from her head.

"Before the infarction, did you have any comparable pain anywhere else in your body?"

"The usual aches and pains. I was pretty athletic. But no, nothing like that."

"Before the infarction, did you suffer any serious falls, sports injuries or vehicular accidents?"

"None."

House caught Remy's attention. They were both thinking the same thing - Cindy had an agenda. She was fishing for something. House and the Team did it often. This time he was the patient and neither of them was privy to the differential diagnosis.

"Any major accidents since the infarction?"

"I was shot," House chuckled.

"Where?"

"In my office," he laughed.

Remy was mortified.

"No, I mean where on your body?"

"Once in the abdomen, once in the neck."

Cindy made many notes. "What hospital were you at?"

"Princeton-Plainsboro."

"No. As a matter of fact, I actually pain free for two months afterwards."

"How'd you manage that," Thirteen interrupted.

"Let me guess," Cindy offered. "Ketamine."

"How'd you find that out?" House was extremely curious.

"We've had a few patients who have tried it and failed. It seemed so hopeful."

"It was the best two months of my life," he said sadly.

Remy reached over and grabbed his hand giving it a squeeze. He squeezed back.

"Any other exciting antics? Fall down a well? Struck by lightning?"

"You did electrocute yourself - once."

Greg flexed the hand that had been burnt, remember the circumstances surrounding the stunt.

"How'd that happen?"

Greg continued to stare at his hand. It had been Amber who saved his life. Cut throat bitch that she was.

It was as if Remy was reading his thoughts. They were coming to dangerous territory. "Science experiment gone wrong."

"Any neurological effects?"

They both shook their heads negatively.

"Any other mishaps?"

House closed his eyes and swallowed hard. Thirteen watched him carefully. Neither said anything for quite some time. Cindy watched both of them, biding her time. A different tension had flooded the room. Their shared history was something distressing for both of them, not just Greg.

"It's important," she said softly.

"I'll tell her," Thirteen was more or less asking his permission.

His nod was almost imperceptible.

"There was a bus crash. He suffered a skull fracture, loss of memory and a laceration to the head."

"Sounds pretty nasty. No other injuries?"

"I got up and walked out the overturned bus into a strip club."

"So no apparent spinal cord injury. Any back or hip pain?"

Greg shook his head.

"I assume you had a full set of x-rays."

"He was distracted at the time."

"Hmm. A bus crash might do that to you. The ER docs may have overlooked something."

"Another friend was on the bus with him. She was missing. So he absconded before they could check him out completely."

"Hope that all worked out okay."

House's blue eyes were piercing through Remy, pleading with her not to speak of it.

"Aside from the heart attack due to a drug interaction and deep brain stimulation that resulting in a complex partial seizure leaving him unconscious for a while…"

"From the bus crash to yesterday, anything else?" Cindy looked from her patient to his friend. They're shared history no longer seemed obvious.

"Oh, let's not forget the motorcycle crash in Middletown."

"What, do you have a death wish?"

Greg didn't respond. Thirteen just shrugged.

"Greg, anything else you'd care to share?"

Hannah's face swam before his mind's eye. It wasn't that long ago. He was still coping with the decision he had made. He never thought about himself as he crawled through the destruction and dust to help her. And when the rubble shifted, dropping debris on him, he didn't feel it. He wouldn't have known he was injured if it weren't for the rescue workers helping to get her out. Nothing positive came out of that day.

"No."

Cindy and Remy could feel the forlornness in his voice.

"I'm sorry you've been through so much. The chronic pain only compounds things." She patted his good thigh.

"What did you find on the MRI? Greg was point-blank.

"To tell you that would be overstepping my bounds."

"If you don't tell him, he'll obsess until someone does," Remy jumped to his aid.

Cindy fidgeted a bit. She opened the chart to his MRI results and pretended to be reading.

"Before you even think of lying," House began, but she cut him off.

"Look, I love what I do. If I give you test results without my boss's permission, I could lose my job, my certification - everything I've worked hard for. I'm not going to risk it. Not for you, not even if you were the biggest donor to this hospital."

Greg actually managed to smile. She sounded a bit like Cuddy just then. "It's okay, I'll just stress myself out, have a hypertensive crisis, stroke or have a heart att-"

Remy put her hand on his shoulder to shut him up. He was giving away too much.

"You forget, I can give you a sedative."

"You're abusing your authority," he corrected.

"Only if I give you those test results," she said while dismounting the bed.

He grabbed her arm.

She looked at where he held her, then in his eyes. "I promise there's nothing life threatening or worrisome on the films. Just the usual junk."

He released her. The 'usual junk' could mean a lot of things. It was like a full body scan revealing at least three different things that looked problematic but were basically benign.

"I'll be back in the morning. You should try to get some sleep."

He nodded and watched her go.

"What was that about?" Remy let go of his hand.

"She's on an elite team of orthopods. They think they can help with the chronic leg pain."

"Wow, is that why you came here instead of Princeton-Plainsboro?"

"I came here because my ride came here."

"So what really happened?"


	16. Suspicious Minds

Suspicious Minds

Wilson popped his head into the conference room after spying on Dr. Hadley making coffee.

"Morning. How did your meeting go last night?"

"It was okay. Nothing catastrophic," she said barely paying him any attention.

"Good," he responded with uncertainty. Ever since her mysterious telephone call, Remy seemed to have distanced herself from him. He couldn't help but feel like she was hiding something. James wasn't sure if he should try to confront her or take it up with Cuddy.

"Any word from House," she asked casually as she took her coffee to the table.

"Nothing. You?" He hadn't meant to poke, it just slipped out.

"Why would he call me?"

Wilson took the seat across from her. "Maybe because he respects you."

Remy snorted but didn't make eye contact.

"There. You're doing it now. Ever since the phone call last night you've been aloof."

"What, are you jealous I don't share my personal business with you?" She faced him. "After you dropped me off, I didn't see you until now. How is that aloof?"

James backed down. "I'm sorry. You're right. I'm a little worried about House."

"You're a little paranoid, too."

He sighed. It's just that I've always had to pick up the pieces with House. Why is this time any different?"

"Couldn't tell you."

"I just wish I knew where he was, so I could relax knowing he was safe."

Remy had never given much thought to Wilson's and House's relationship. It just was. Once, Chase accused Wilson of being selfish when it came to House. After all the years he enabled House's addiction, only to throw him to the wolves…He lauded himself as the ultimate person who got House the help he needed.

House was his scapegoat. James' three marriages were ruined by House, even though House met him after the first one went sour. Every time Wilson's life was in the toilet, House was at the root of the problem. Wilson's life was either good or bad depending on House's needs.

Her boss had told Remy that his 'so called' friend left him hanging. One thing she definitely knew about Greg House was that he rarely asked anyone for help in the nature of personal gain. Reaching out to people was difficult for him. And when he reached out to her, she understood what that meant.

"I thought Nolan's letter said he was safe. Why don't you believe him?"

Wilson squirmed in his seat. "He could be in jail, and that's relatively safe compared to being tied to train tracks."

Remy languished in his uneasiness. She felt he deserved whatever torment he was experiencing.

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Foreman and Taub. The atmosphere changed quickly.

"Any news," Taub poured himself a cup of coffee before turning on the computer.

"Nothing," Wilson responded tersely.

Taub gave Thirteen a concerned look. James caught it.

"Sorry. I'm stressing out."

"House is fine," Foreman strode past the group heading for the main office. "He's probably at some pleasure palace getting screwed by two girls at once."

Remy snorted, choking on her coffee. "Now that's funny."

But before anyone could continue with what they were doing, Cuddy's heels could be heard in the hallway. She sounded like a woman marching on a mission. The conference room door swayed open with foreboding.

She stomped in, folded her arms across her chest and stared down each of them. "House left a message on my work voicemail. Did he talk to or leave messages for any of you?"

"I'll go check my phone," Wilson jumped up, hopeful in the fact that he missed a call.

"What about the three of you?" She couldn't keep suspicion from her tone.

They all responded in the negative. Cuddy took a chair at the table and sighed with frustration. Wilson returned confirming the lack of a call.

"What has you so upset? Was it a personal message?"

"He's so incorrigible. All he said was that he needed some time to work through some new pain management issues."

"He's alive, in a facility, Nolan has him covered. What's the problem?" Foreman headed again for the office.

Cuddy stood defiantly. "The problem is: he's having problems and he feels he can't come to any of us for help." She couldn't stop thinking of Kutner.

"Or maybe he did, and we just brushed him off," Remy interjected.

"The only time House talks to me is to say something derogatory. I'm sure I would have remembered if he asked for help," Taub voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Don't look at me," Foreman shrugged.

Thirteen was next to fall under Cuddy's scrutiny. "Instead of asking ourselves why he didn't feel like he could talk to us."

"We're still forgetting about the accident," Wilson interjected. "Maybe the pain management issues are new because a vehicle plowed into him."

"If that's the case, why didn't he get brought here or-"

"You're all making way too many assumptions. The main thing we're forgetting is that House is entitled to his privacy." Remy was having a hard time keeping her feelings in check. "So if we're done with this futile debate, I'm going to head down to the Clinic and do something useful."

The door was barely shut behind her when Taub mumbled, "She knows something."

Greg stirred long before the nursing shift change was due to occur. Long before the CNA's did their morning rounds. Nowhere near breakfast. So what was causing him to wake without provocation?

Maybe he just wasn't tired. Yeah, right. Two days of forced relaxation didn't make up for years of bad sleep habits. He wasn't even sure if it was a good or bad sign that he was aware something was different about this morning. Greg found himself sighing, as his body resisted sleep.

Boredom quickly set in. He became restless, frustrated and anxious. Im the back of his mind he knew why. They had begun to wean him off the muscle relaxers. It was just a matter of time before pain returned. His only option was to sit around and wait for it. And for a while nothing happened except for an increase in his anxiety.

At about 4 am a young woman entered his room, careful not to disturb him. She was surprised to find him awake.

"You are up."

"Been awake for a while."

"Wasn't sure if you were in pain or just awake." She caught his confused look. "I'm at the station watching the monitors."

"No pain - yet."

"That's good. We're hoping you won't experience anything too debilitating."

"It's coming. It's just a matter of time."

"Do you want something to help you get back to sleep?"

Greg had resigned himself to suffering the torture of being awake at the onslaught. Being asleep would definitely be better. "I don't know." The more he thought about it, the more appealing it seemed. "Yeah."

"I'll be back in a few."

Remy worked through the morning trying not to think about her boss. It was difficult to do as she could imagine how he would have treated each patient she had seen. His normal habit of berating them echoed in her ears. At one point Dr. Hadley had to assure one of the patient's that she wasn't grinning foolishly because she thought the particular illness was funny.

By the time she explained her way out of the situation, Taub came to help out at the clinic. He noted her seemingly good mood and decided to probe a little.

"I've never seen anyone so happy while doing clinic duty." His tone was pleasant, but his body language suggested accusation.

"How should I be?" Remy traded off files with Brenda.

"A little less enthusiastic, maybe." Chris stepped in her path. "You're going to give everyone else a bad reputation."

"Don't worry," Remy side stepped him, "No one's going to accuse you of slacking like House."

"Funny you should mention his name," Taub followed her a few feet before she turned back to block him.

"What do you mean?"

"New pool."

"Chase is taking bets on what's happened to House?"

Taub shook his head negatively. "More on how long you've know about House's whereabouts."

"That's one pool no one's going to win, since I have no idea where House is."

"Nice try. I wasn't born yesterday."

"Then it must have been the day before." She walked into the exam room before leaving her colleague dumbfounded.

Wilson and Cuddy met for lunch in the hospital cafeteria for one reason: to spy on Dr. Hadley. They tried to be inconspicuous by talking about budgets, donors and the upcoming committee meetings as they chose their meals and waited in line to pay. It wasn't until they took their seats in the vicinity of Thirteen that they talked quietly.

James couldn't wait to explore the possibility of Hadley's guilty knowledge, but Cuddy wasn't so sure House's Fellow knew anything. Lisa had watched Remy partake of her lunch and occasionally text or check her phone messages.

"She's hiding something."

"Yeah, her personal life," Cuddy said wryly.

"She doesn't seem … different to you?" Wilson squinted at her as if doing so provided some kind of interface with what Thirteen was thinking.

"Quit looking at her like that," Lisa chastised. "People are going to think you're having a stroke."

"It's driving me crazy. I know she knows something."

Lisa reached across the table putting her hand on his. "Stop obsessing. We'll find out where House is sooner or later."

"I'd rather it be sooner."

"House is out of our hair for a little while. You should rejoice. I know I'm going to get a lot more done. Consider it a vacation."

"I'm afraid to. House is needy. And as soon as he needs me, I'll feel like I need to be there to help him out. He'll expect it."

"If that's how you feel, then you should relish what vacation time you get."

"That would be great … as long as Hurricane Greg wasn't brewing out in the ocean."

"Maybe by the time he's updated from a tropical depression you'll have reached higher ground."

"Maybe," he said absently as he watched Remy Hadley answer a call. "It's still worth while to watch the weather reports for storm tracking."

Thirteen was anxious when 'unknown' popped up on her cell phone screen. She answered casually, not wanting to draw any attention to herself.

"Hey, what's up?"

He didn't readily answer. She found herself holding her breath until he said something.

"They promised me pain and torture."

There was an awkward pause.

"Since you're into kinky shit, I thought you might stop by and get off on the end product."

"I understand your concern. Id' feel the same way. Do you want me to break away and come now?"

"That would be ideal; but in reality, you and I both know you'd just be sitting around waiting. Might as well finish my clinic hours for me."

"It's probably for the best. A few folks are suspicious already. Wilson's absolutely paranoid. I think he might have a psychotic break over his lack of control."

House chuckled. "Thanks. I needed to hear that."

"I'll be by tonight. Do you want me to bring anything."

"The stuff in my back pack."

"The usual stuff. Got it … And-" She almost said his name aloud. "Good luck. I'll see you tonight." Remy closed her phone, glancing over to where Cuddy and Wilson sat. They quickly turned their heads as if they weren't eavesdropping.

Cuddy chanced one last glance at Thirteen as the woman bussed her tray. "I think you're right. She is hiding something. I'm just not sure it has anything to do with House."

Wilson watched Remy leave. "What makes you say that?"

"She looks sad … like she didn't get good news."

"Well she did say a friend was having some problems. Maybe she was telling the truth." He didn't want to believe he was over-reacting, but since Cuddy didn't feel his suspicion, there had to be another explanation.

"A conversation with House doesn't make a person sad. Frustrated, yes; but sad?"


	17. Unexpected Results

Unexpected Results

Greg hardly touched lunch. The sleeping pill they gave him made him groggy, even though he got a decent amount of shut-eye. He was very aware that pain was seeping back into his existence. The scheduled EMG wasn't going to be the worst test they could possibly give him, but it certainly wasn't going to be pleasant, either.

When Dr. Radcliffe arrived he was carrying House's MRI films. Normally he didn't show his patients the nitty-gritty results, but House's reputation as an outstanding diagnostician might lend a hand in determining potential courses of treatment. After all, the man was the only one to diagnose his own infarction. It seemed cruel to leave him out of the loop.

"Wanna show you something." He handed Greg the manila oversized envelope.

"You're going to let me in on the differential? Greg was astounded. He'd never willingly do something that idiotic.

"Normally I wouldn't even make an exception for any other doctor, but since it's you."

"Great. Physician heal thyself."

"Cindy wanted to be here when I gave you the test results. She said you were really anxious to get them yesterday."

"I was, but that was then."

"I haven't let her in on your secret; but eventually she'll catch on. I'm surprised she hasn't already."

"Like I said, I'm enjoying the anonymity. I have no desire to be treated like the ass people know me to be."

"I have to admit, I was expecting to knock heads with you."

"Maybe a year ago. Hell, depending on my mood, I would have given you hell last week. I've been in chronic pain for a dozen years or so. I spent most of that time in a Vicodin bubble just to be able to function. You are the first doctor who thinks he can do something to alleviate some of the pain. That's way more than anyone's ever offered me."

"There are no guarantees. But if we do find something that helps, at least you'll have a choice."

"So what does the MRI tell you," House steeled himself for impending doom.

"With respect to your leg, the femur is structurally sound. Your hip is showing a little wear and tear, as well as your knee. But hey, you're over fifty." He shrugged, trying to spin a little joviality into a diagnosis of mild arthritis.

"Nothing so far that wasn't unexpected." Greg watched the doctor for signs of dropping the other shoe.

"You have a herniated disc at L3-L4."

"THAT is unexpected." Greg was shocked.

"Considering what your body's been through, I'm amazed you're still alive."

"It's really a non-issue…the disc thing. I'm asymptomatic." Greg was trying to reason out why it was such a big deal.

"Seriously?" Just because you don't have low back pain doesn't mean you're not having symptoms." It was like he was waiting for his patient to reach the same conclusions.

"If my hand hurts, it's most likely NOT because I have a brain tumor."

"Radiculopathy. The disc impinges the nerve at the root. It sends signals down its channels triggering pain and/or spasming, effecting other parts of the body."

"That's just radiculous." But Greg knew the orthopedist was right.

"Sciatica."

"That goes down the leg. I don't have pain all the way down."

"The nerve was damaged by the infarction. The EMG would show where sciatic pain is interrupted. Unfortunately with the fibular fractures we can't run the electrical conduction study of the nerve just yet."

"Then why bother doing it at all?" House was trying to draw the reasoning from the doctor.

"The muscle conduction study will help us determine how the muscle tissue is functioning and let us see the electrical impulses of the spasms."

Greg nodded. It was a sound plan. "When do we start?"

"Cindy's prepping a room. She'll cut you out of the cast, make you a splint and then the fun will begin."

"Yippee," Greg frowned.


	18. Cuddy's Pain

Cuddy's Pain

Lisa Cuddy, Dean of Medicine, couldn't concentrate on her afternoon work load. House's absence, Wilson's paranoia and Hadley's suspicious behavior were wearing her down. But it was mostly House's absence that bothered her. She realized that although she loved her career, coming to work and dealing with House's immature and outlandish behavior provided a strange sense of comic relief to her day.

The anticipation of him walking through her door was part of the daily routine. If he didn't stop in to see her, she knew he was distracted by his case and was thinking. If he needed a different approach or opinion, he'd drop in to harass her. And unless she was under a time constraint, she only pretended to let it bother her.

In reality, it got her blood pumping. Lisa had never gotten over the Michigan crush. She learned to deal with it. As Dean of Medicine she had to maintain a modicum of professionalism. But that didn't keep her from experiencing the burning embers that glowed every time he graced her with his presence.

When House was at Mayfield she felt a dual loss: even if she had the courage to go see him, he wouldn't see her; and her biggest fear was that Greg would somehow be emotionally lobotomized from his commitment; that personality-wise, he'd come back introverted. Without his wit and sarcastic charm, he'd be just another face in the crowd. Ordinary. Unnoticeable.

Lisa closed the file in front of her, sighing heavily. She tried hard not to overanalyze his reasons for needing to be recognized - for good or bad traits. It was difficult not to wonder about his upbringing. People don't act out for attention unless they have a reason. Knowing Greg's father was a strict disciplinarian and his mother was submissive was about all she knew pertaining to his family. He didn't connect with them, as if he found out he was adopted at the pound and they wanted to return him for a different puppy - one that was more to their liking.

Since her own adopted child was becoming an independent little person, Lisa wanted to find out what made House the way he was. She wanted to be a good mother to her daughter, and if she could, avoid some of the mistakes the House's parents had made. Then she'd feel confident that her daughter would grow up to be well-adjusted. But how do you approach a person and ask him such personal questions? If you told him your intentions right off the bat, would that be too bold? Could it hinder learning the truth? Would that person tell you what he thought you wanted to hear?

Gregory House had so many protective barriers in place it made the Great Wall of China appear to be made of Legos. He would deflect then mock, ultimately coming up with a way to emotionally hurt you before you could even touch his psyche. Lisa knew it was an awful way to live. It was his means of survival for so long that his stay in Mayfield achieved only one goal other than detoxification: getting Greg to realize he didn't have to shield with so much armor. He could look before he poured the hot oil over the wall. No one ever got any wiser by shooting first and asking questions later.

It was in that moment she realized the gravity of his being. She needed him. She wanted him. She loved him -romantically, platonically, unconditionally - agape. The scariest circumstance she could face was that he was capable of completely walking out of her life without a word. He had done it before.

The elevator doors opened with Cuddy walking head down right into Wilson

"What's wrong," he grabbed her by the shoulders, forcing her to look up. He had never known her to look so lost.

"Oh," she said absently out of surprise. "I was just coming to talk to you."

James led her back into this office and sat with her on the couch. "Did you hear something about House?"

She shook her head. "I'm worried…not worried about him being MIA, more like…concerned. What if he doesn't come back?"

"This is his life. He just needs to get his head on straight. The Team can function without him for a few weeks."

Lisa shook her head again. "It's not that," she murmured. "I don't think I could live without him in my life…in some way, shape or form."


	19. House's Pain

House's Pain

Greg laid on the gurney slightly embarrassed by the fact that he was overexposed. In the company of folks he knew, he wasn't ashamed of his nudity. He had a nice physique and wasn't afraid to use it - even as a weapon of surprise to the unsuspecting. It was a whole different story when he was feeling vulnerable.

Cindy picked up on his tension, doing everything in her power to minimalize his self-consciousness. He skill with the cast saw made quick work of the task, and for that Greg was thankful. But no matter how hard she tried, the woman could not help but stimulate a few erogenous zones. She brushed the arch of his foot sending a tingle up his spine. The flaccid ant hill Gregory became excited as it worked its way up to mole hill. Cindy pretended not to pay attention.

Greg experienced more than he bargained for when she brushed her hand against his manhood while clipping away at the padding. At half mast, he was nearly mortified.

She saw the look on his face but didn't have to look further for the explanation. "Sorry. That's a normal reaction. You're not the first, you won't be the last."

Greg cleared his throat. "Who knew that a cast could be so erotic?"

Cindy laughed. "There's a whole community out there of recreational casters who subject themselves to this process just to get a sexual charge."

"That's sick."

"It's a fetish. Medical bondage."

She was so matter-of-fact about it Greg began to wonder. His thoughts drifted off as she finished her work.

Cindy made a quick call to page another member of the Team to assist with the test. House didn't particularly pay attention to his name, just that he was a Physician's Assistant. Greg's initial thought was that Cindy could handle the test by herself, but should he need any real medical attention, she'd need to call for help. A possible delay could result in something really bad happening, so he kept his mouth shut.

A brief explanation of what they intended to do was given, but Greg let it go in one ear and out the other. He had ordered his minions to give countless versions of the test to patients. He was very aware of what it involved. It didn't put him at ease; it just prepared him for the moment when every regular patient went into panic mode. What they said there were going to do first made his stomach muscles clench.

"Let us roll you onto your stomach. Don't try to help."

Greg envisioned himself rolling right onto the floor. "Try not to kill me." _DAMN!_ He hadn't meant for that to slip out.

In two precision movements he was face down. A distinct cool breeze wafted across his backside. He was about to make another wise remark when something was draped over the parts they didn't need to get at.

"Ready?" Cindy leaned over to be face-to-face with him.

"Just stick it in and get it over with."

"I've never met anyone so in a hurry to get jabbed in the-" She inserted the first wired needle into his lower flank, "back." Cindy nodded for the RPA to send the jolt of electricity. The needle bobbed a few times.

"That feels weird," House mumbled.

"More to come." Cindy removed the needle and inserted it into his ass. This happened several more times as she worked the needle into his glutes.

By the time she reached his periformis, Greg felt like he had sat on a cactus. Just when he thought she had finished, she pushed the pin slightly northwest of his hip.

"Aah ow, what did you shove in there, a steak knife?"

"Found it!"

Her exclamation of delight annoyed him. "Good for you, now get it out."

The needle bounced furiously. "No can do."

"It hurts like hell," he whined.

"Gotta catch this spasm on paper." She tapped the pin to make it go in a little deeper. The muscle responded by relaxing. "Sorry about that."

"Sure you are." His voice was no longer playful.

"We'll take a brief break as we turn you back over."

He exhaled slowly and evenly. Within moments he was face up with his right thigh exposed. Greg was not looking forward to what was about to come. He'd be able to see this round of needles as they were inserted.

Cindy watched him carefully. If the scowl on his face was any indication of the storm brewing behind his eyes… "Greg, relax, you're white knuckling the sheets."

He glared at her, jaw clenched.

"The more you tense up, the worse it will be."

"Just get it over with." His normally inviting blue eyes pierced her like icicles.

Cindy frowned. She hated having to inflict pain, but it was a necessary test. Before she inserted a pin, she ran her hand over his thigh. He flinched causing some of the muscles to pull taut.

"Less groping, more poking. Let's not delay the inevitable."

She took a deep breath and inserted the first needle. The electrical impulse was sent. It bobbed for about five seconds then subsided. She repeated the procedure several times with similar results. The amount of tension emanating from his body was palpable throughout the room. The look on his face told her the pain was back. And this was only the beginning.

The next insertion caused him to yelp. The needed started bouncing uncontrollably. Greg's breathing became irregular.

"Try to relax," Cindy coached him.

He grunted and groaned, sitting up to see what was happening.

"Make the needle stop moving."

His eyes searched her wildly. "How am I supposed to do that?"

"Concentrate. Feel the muscle and relax it."

"Fuck you! You make it stop. Pull it out!"

"Work with me, Greg."

He tried to access it, but all he felt was a gnawing ache as if someone was trying to comb a metal fork through his thigh. "I can't do it."

"Try."

"I'm trying," he screamed.

"Try harder," she coaxed.

Greg half laughed, half cried. "Stop torturing me," he pleaded.

Cindy looked over to her colleague, who nodded. She pulled out the needle.

Greg felt a little relief and tried to get his breathing under control.

"I'm sorry," Cindy said with a hint of sadness in her voice.

Greg heard it, but thought she was sorry for previous pain. The howl that tore from his lips surprised even himself as she inserted the tiny rod into the partially amputated muscle.

A nurse appeared at the doorway. The Physician's Assistant shouted for Atavan.

Cindy stared at him in dumbfounded horror. She had never seen anyone react this severely before.

"Get it out!" House screamed between ragged breaths until his voice became hoarse. He couldn't understand why Cindy just stared at him.

"Please stop," he begged.

She could do nothing. The needle had already been removed.

The nurse returned, and for the first time Greg saw her. His eyes widened in fear. The blonde hair, those pouty ruby red lips.

"Eighty milligrams of Vicodin."

_AMBER!_

"Hi, House," she smiled and winked, giving him a little wave.

"Get away from me!" A new sense of urgency overcame him - one of emotional survival. The physical pain was nothing compared to the thought of losing his mind.

"Greg, you need to calm down," Cindy stood over him, trying to restrain him so they could administer the sedative.

"Get away from me," his fear morphed into anger as he looked beyond the hand holding him down. Amber waived from over Cindy's shoulder.

The look on his face was enough to make Cindy turn her head to see what he saw, and eased up just enough to allow Greg to sit up and overpower her. They struggled for a few moments, his physical position an advantage over her short stature. Greg managed to throw his elbow in her face, causing her to stagger, yet she kept her hands on him for support.

Amber continued to taunt him. He had to get at her, to push her away before she could give him the Vicodin. He was standing. Almost there. But the syringe pierced his deltoid and he was falling. The hole was impossibly deep. He fell and fell and fell until the light at the top was no longer visible.

Cindy fell backwards onto the floor carrying Greg's full weight on top of her. They both landed in a heap of splayed arms and legs.

"Ow," Cindy mumbled from somewhere under Greg House.


	20. Unexpected Findings

Unexpected Findings

Wilson moved his car to a few aisles away from where Remy Hadley had parked earlier that day. He couldn't shake the feeling she had guilty knowledge. And maybe, just maybe, she would lead him to a clue as to House's whereabouts.

Before long Dr. Hadley approached her car disarming the security feature as she reached the door. She seemed preoccupied by something. All the better for James. Remy was clever. Like House, she saw things that seemed slightly out of place where others wouldn't even notice. She'd surely catch on if he tailed her too closely.

And having House for a best friend enabled Wilson to learn a few deceitful tricks over the years. Using Houseian techniques to find House seemed very _a propos. _Hopefully Dr. Hadley was distracted enough not to notice anything.

Lucky for him she didn't. He followed her to the other side of town, speculating on where she was going. James never figured he'd end up in the parking lot of Memorial. It would make no sense for House to be there when he could easily be at General or his own hospital. This was too weird. There could be so many other reasons she came to this particular hospital. Perhaps she sought out this place for her Huntington's treatment. Anything was possible.

Once she entered, he parked and headed for the doors. He stayed outside the entrance until he could see her enter the elevators. James formulated a plan and rushed in.

"Hi, maybe you could help me," he inquired breathlessly to the attendant at the visitor's desk. "My wife, Remy Hadley, just came in to see our friend. I was parking and forgot to ask her what room he was in so I could meet her.

The kindly volunteer punched in Remy's name and gave James Wilson a free pass to follow her to House's room.

Remy was about to enter the room when a nurse called her over to the desk.

"I just wanted to let you know he's under heavy sedation. He had an episode this afternoon, and I'm afraid he's a little worse for the wear."

"Thanks," Remy smiled thinking it meant House had been an unruly patient. "I'll only stay a few minutes." She returned to House's door and entered expecting nothing new.

But what she found stopped her dead in her tracks. "What the hell?" He looked a mess. Yesterday he was goofy and broken. Today he seemed unconscious and mangled.

She stepped up beside him, almost afraid of what she might find on closer inspection. Remy wasn't expecting to see him restrained to the bed. "Oh, House, what in the hell happened to you today?"

His eyelids fluttered in response to her voice. He wanted to wake up but couldn't.

Remy held his hand in hers. House's fingers curled, holding on to her.

"I don't know what happened, but I plan on finding out. I'll be back, hopefully tomorrow morning, to check on you." She looked at him a few seconds longer before leaving.

Wilson peered from around a corner hoping he'd catch Remy leaving a room so that he could enter once she left. Success! She strode from a door and headed for what he assumed was the Nurse's Station. Quickly he snuck down the hall and through the door.

He turned to the patient after making sure the door closed noiselessly behind him. There were no words to express what he felt upon seeing his friend. His heart simultaneously was in his throat and in his stomach.

"House?" He called out tentatively, not wanting to disturb him yet yearning to hear his voice and know he was going to be okay. If Greg heard him, he didn't stir.

James's brain went into overdrive. _I have to call Cuddy. Why in the hell did he come here? Why Hadley?_

"Why didn't you have them call me?" His voice held a bit of sadness mixed with betrayal.

The door opened behind him, and two people walked in.

"No one is supposed to be in here," the petite brunette said harshly.

"He's my friend."

"You'll have to leave." She stood up to him making a display of her authority.

Wilson looked down on her to read her name tag. "Cindy, he's my friend. I've been looking for him for two days."

"Are you the friend he called for help? The doctor?" She glared at him, boring her hazel eyes into his.

James swallowed hard. "Guilty."

"You better leave before you end up in the bed next to him."

"How is he?" James didn't want to leave without some answers.

"How does he look?"

"Bad," he whispered.

"You have to leave. We have some work to do here." Cindy walked away, giving her full attention to her colleague. "Ready?"

Wilson backed out of the room. He knew they were probably there to check for DVTs. After that who knows what else he needed done. As the door closed he could have sworn he heard Cindy say, "with friends like that, who needs enemies?"

Wilson sat in his car, unsure of what his next move should be. If he confronted Remy, she'd give him hell, especially since it seemed that House had chosen to confide in her instead of him. If he called Cuddy, she'd either read him the riot act for ditching House in his moment of need, or get herself so bent out of shape, she'd fall to pieces. If her conversation in his office today was any indication, she'd to the latter. No, he' had better just go home and figure out how to access House directly.


	21. Time & Tide

Time & Tide

Lisa Cuddy approached the reception desk to pick up her morning messages before heading to her office. What she didn't expect was to find that both Wilson and Dr. Hadley had called to say they were taking personal days.

"Maybe they have whatever House has," Brenda quipped.

"Let's hope not. I don't want to have to replace two doctors."

Brenda looked at her quizzically, but Cuddy walked away without saying anything further.

She barely got settled at her desk before the urge to call Wilson overtook her. Both his and Hadley's absences were unexpected - especially since she knew Wilson was going to play detective last evening. What could he have discovered that required him to take a personal day?

James debated on answering the phone. He figured it was probably Cuddy calling. But then he realized he should at least check the caller ID. It could be House, or Dr. Nolan returning his call. He reached for the phone, but the caller had hung up.

His missed call log revealed that it had been Cuddy calling. He didn't want to take that call just yet. What would he tell her?

His cell did ring a few moments later. James chose to ignore it. He lay in bed staring up at the ceiling wondering about his friend.

Remy Hadley arrived at Memorial just as visiting hours went into effect. She stopped at the visitor's desk but was told that House was with the doctor and it would be at least forty-five minutes before she could see him. Remy thanked her and headed off to the gift shop in search of something to distract her until she could see her boss.

Darryl Nolan administered the drug that would bring his patient out of sedation. Within minutes Greg House stirred awake, a mix of pain and confusion contorting his face.

"Good morning." Nolan stood over him, face serious with concern.

"What are you doing here," Greg asked sleepily.

"Just curious to find out what happened yesterday."

Greg tried to bring his hand up to scratch an itch on his chin, but didn't get anywhere. He tried the other hand. "Why am I shackled to the bed?"

"Here, let me undo those." Nolan kept his eyes on the patient.

"How did I end up like this?" His head felt fuzzy, like after a night of heavy drinking without the pain of the hangover.

"You don't remember falling on the ice?"

"That I remember. Just not this contraption they've got me hooked up to."

"The doctor assures me it's in your best interest. What's the last thing you remember about yesterday?"

"Back up the train. Let's start with today."

"Today is the twenty second. It's about 9:30 in the morning." Nolan glanced at his watch for confirmation.

"What happened to yesterday?"

"You tell me?"

"The last think I remember is that I was having a procedure done."

"Good. Then what?"

Greg tried to recollect his thoughts. He went through the conversation he had with Thirteen at lunch time. He vaguely remembered being sexually aroused. This caused his pulse to rise.

Nolan noticed it on the monitor. "What were you just thinking?"

"Something embarrassing," Greg blushed.

But with the next thought he turned white as the sheets. His heart started pounding in his chest.

"What is it, Greg?" Nolan kept an eye on the monitors.

"It was Amber." His eyes darted around the room as if he were looking for her.

"What was?"

"I don't know," he sounded confused.

"You know, you just don't want to say it."

"I can't remember every detail. I'm just getting impressions."

"Anything after Amber?"

Greg wouldn't allow himself to think about it anymore. "No."

"Try."

"No!" Greg sighed with resignation.

"Do you remember any pain?"

"That was before Amber showed up." He was surprised that he didn't have to think about that answer.

"What about getting off the table?" Nolan was amused by his own mental picture of House pushing his body to its limits.

"No. In case you haven't noticed, I'm not physically functioning that well."

"That's why you ended up on the floor."

"I don't remember any of that." He was almost defiant.

"Why do you think Amber showed up?"

"The Vicodin." It was another answer that came without thinking.

"There was no Vicodin this time."

House looked at his shrink with uncertainty. His left hand went to the top of his right arm as if feeling for the needle prick.

"They gave you Atavan to calm you down."

"She said it was Vicodin." He sounded as lost as he felt.

"The brain has a way of deceiving us when it's under duress. You were in excruciating pain. The last time you experienced it at that level, you were taking Vicodin. Your brain wanted Vicodin; it tricked your ears into hearing Vicodin. And because the Vicodin caused the hallucinations, you remembered Amber."

Greg looked up into Nolan's calm face. Perhaps it was all a delusion. How was he to know?

"I'm not sure this is real." He watched carefully for any signs he was right: a twitch, a smirk, a gesture from the psychiatrist that his mind was playing tricks on him.

Dr. Nolan frowned. "Why? What is making you believe it's not?"

Greg put the heels of his hands to his eyes. "I don't know. I'm not sure what to believe."

"What would it take to make you believe this is your reality?"

His voice was filled with anguish as he spoke. "I don't know."

Nolan changed tack. "If this is a delusion, how could you prove it?"

"Get up and walk out of it," Greg's eyes lit with an idea. His hand reached for the bedrail as he made to sit up.

The doctor put his hand on his patient's arm. "Not a good idea."

"Take your hands off of me," anger flashed in Greg's eyes.

"House, you can't leave this bed. You'll hurt yourself."

"Then so be it!"

Nolan took Greg's hand and secured it back in the restraint. "I can't allow it. You're telling me we can't trust you. Until you realize differently you'll have to remain restrained to the bed."

"Screw you," Greg tested the leather shackles.

"It's for your own good."


	22. Rainy Days & Delusions

Rainy Days and Delusions Always Bring Me Down

Greg stared up at the ceiling feeling trapped in an emotional hell. This delusion, or hallucination, or whatever it was weighed on him as much physically as it did psychologically. He lay there tormented by the inability tell what was real.

When Remy Hadley entered the room, he hadn't even noticed. She was practically standing over him and he didn't see her.

"Hey," she said softly to get his attention without startling him.

He drew in a quick breath, slightly freaked out over her sudden appearance. "Where did you come from?" Instinctually he wanted to shrink away from her but physically couldn't. "Why are you here?"

"You asked me to come. Yesterday, anyway. But you had a bad day and were sedated. So I decided to come today to see how you're doing."

"Leave me alone, Remy. None of this is real." He squeezed his eyes shut hoping she'd be gone when he opened them again.

"House, you've never called me by my given name." Thirteen reached for his hand. "So you hallucinated Amber again. It doesn't mean you're still hallucinating. I'm here. And this is all very real."

"That's what you would say if this was a delusion."

"No, if this was a delusion, knowing how your brain works, you'd expect me to tell you I have a crush on you and that we should hook up and have kinky sex." She was blushing a little bit. There was a lot of admiration for the man, but crushing on him wasn't in the mix.

"So you kissing me isn't going to happen."

"I may be bi, but I'm not crazy. The last time I slept with someone who was my boss…"

"Hmm. Maybe this is real."

"The thought of me and Foreman set you straight?"

"Not exactly. However, in a delusion or hallucination I always get what I want from the woman involved." He saw surprise, or was it shock, on Thirteen's face. "Amber was the exception."

"Maybe Amber was what you wanted for Wilson's happiness." She patted House's hand.

"Then why was she so evil?" Greg was still trying to decide if Remy Hadley was really there.

"You wanted her there for Wilson, but she was only there because of the Vicodin. Your brain knew the drugs were bad, and in turn, Amber had to be bad."

Greg squeezed her hand. The solidity of her flesh was reassuring. What she said was logical. Yet he still wasn't sure he could trust what he was experiencing.

"Do you want me to stay or go?" Remy didn't know what would be best.

"He looked her over, noted the magazine rolled up in her pocket and wondered why she would ask. "Don't you have a job to go to?"

"Not today. Personal day. Friend's in the hospital."

"I don't think it matters, so do what you want."


	23. Personal Days & Personality Clashes

Personal Days and Personality Clashes

The more James stayed in bed, the more agitated he became. He could only think about how things would be different if he hadn't blown off House for a dinner date. If only he had taken his friend seriously this time. It was infuriating to be both mad at himself for not knowing better, and mad at House for bringing his life into another state of crisis.

Was it guilt on his behalf? James pondered what exactly he was guilty of. Sure, not being the best possible friend at every moment was the first thought to pop up, but that was irrational thinking. He had to live his life first. He made that choice two nights ago.

He thought his friend understood that, but House was also capable of being spiteful. Maybe House did want to sabotage the date. But then again, Greg was not the type to throw himself in front of a moving vehicle for just anyone - at least not without good cause. Yet he had done so many crazy things in the past, it wasn't completely beyond his character.

So then what did happen to have House end up in a hospital on the other side of town? Maybe this really wasn't about him and House. It was possible that House and Cuddy had some unaired dirty laundry. But that wasn't making sense either. Just yesterday Cuddy had confided in him that she could not live without House in her life. Anything that might have transpired between the two of them would have been brought out in the open by the frantic Cuddy.

So then what was Remy Hadley's role in this weird little situation? Why did House reach out to her and not anyone else?

And that brought James right back to his own insecurity. House had reached out to him and was rejected. Thirteen was the least judgmental of all his colleagues. In his current condition, she was, at best, a loose connection to his life at Princeton-Plainsboro.

House needed more than an AC/DC adapter. He needed a lifeline. Maybe two.

Cuddy worked through the morning hoping to talk to her Head of Oncology at lunch time. She was thankful when Wilson finally answered his phone.

"What's going on?" Her voice was more accusatory than concerned.

"Can you clear your schedule for the afternoon?" James was fresh out of the shower, trying to get dressed while holding up his end of the conversation.

"If I need to," Cuddy responded cautiously. She hoped Wilson was going to reveal his intent soon. "Are you okay? You sound kind of down."

"I found House," he tried for casual.

Cuddy blinked several times before speaking. "Well…is he okay?"

"I don't know. I hope so." James sat on his bed, half dressed. "God I hope so," he mumbled, practically inaudible.

Lisa shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "What do you mean by that?"

"I saw him…just for a few moments. Then I got thrown out of the room."

"Can you blame him?" Cuddy didn't mean to say it out loud. "I'm sorry. I know it's not your fault. You have to remember, when it comes to House, I know how he thinks." It was a nice cover, and she was sure he bought her back peddling. But she really did believe in some way Wilson had something to do with whatever 'it' was. Call it guilty knowledge or guilt by association.

An hour later Wilson and Cuddy were driving across town in Wilson's car. He didn't say much when he picked her up, and said even less during the drive. Lisa could tell he was beating himself up. It seemed that every time she glanced over at him, his facial expression gave him away. She had known James a long time, and eye twitches and other quirky facial tics were his dead giveaway that he was stressed.

He finally glanced over to her to gauge her reaction to them pulling into the hospital parking lot. She didn't respond. "Please say something."

"What's there to say? We figured he was in a hospital. The fact that he's not in the morgue is reassuring." Cuddy wasn't sure what he wanted her to say. He didn't seem relieved by her words. "He's not in the morgue…is he?" Suddenly her heart was pounding a little too loudly in her ears.

Cuddy and Wilson walked right past the visitor's desk heading straight to the elevators. The doors had barely opened when a security guard approached them from behind.

"Excuse me, you need to check in and get your visitors' pass." He pointed them in the right direction.

They followed his suggestion of checking in, all the while Lisa was hoping security at her hospital was this good.

"We're here to see Dr. House," Cuddy said politely.

"We have no Dr. House on staff here," the volunteer returned her politeness.

"He should be in 461," Wilson offered.

"That's a patient room, not an office number."

"That would be because Dr. House is a patient here."

"Oh, you could see the error in my thinking." The volunteer tried to remain polite. "We rarely get people asking for patients as doctors." She tapped in the patient's last name and got a flashing screen. A few keystrokes later and she looked up at his visitors. "Names."

"Lisa Cuddy."

"James Wilson."

The volunteer seemed to scroll down the screen to locate more information. "I'm sorry, Mr. House as a restricted visitors list. Your name doesn't appear."

"There must be some mistake." Wilson turned on the charm. "Who decided who goes in?"

"Right now, his physicians."

"I'm Dr. Lisa Cuddy, Dean of Medicine at Princeton-Plainsboro and Dr. House's personal physician." Cuddy showed her badge knowing full well she shouldn't gain access that way.

"Still can't let you in," the volunteer shrugged apologetically.

"Can I at least speak to his doctor here?"

The frustration was building between both parties.

"Information is that desk over there. I'm strictly visitor passes only."

House dozed while Thirteen read her magazine. She only left the room one when the techs came in to check him for DVTs. This was highly agitating for him, and he was in a particularly foul mood afterwards.

Lunch arrived and Remy had to admit she probably wouldn't have wanted to eat either, but she knew it was important for him to get something down.

"You should at least try something," she admonished. "I.V. nutrition can't give you everything you need."

"Seriously? You're supposed to be a doctor."

Remy smiled widely, it reached her eyes.

"What's so funny?"

"You're sounding more like yourself."

"Yeah, well maybe this isn't what I thought it was."

Thirteen realized that if House was going to ingest anything, she'd have to serve it to him. She started the process of opening straws and popping them into various containers. "What's changed your mind?"

"My hallucinations of the past just spoke to me and appeared. And my delusions tend to center around me being in a good place."

Thirteen stuck a straw in his mouth while she held the bowl of soup. "So this can't be a delusion because this is not the Sultan's palace with belly dancers to entertain you, or a harem to cool you with palm fronds and feed you peeled grapes."

There were interrupted when a Nurse came in. "Thanks for helping us out with Greg. We're a little short-handed with Cindy out for a day or two." She took over what Remy was doing.

"What happened to Cindy?" House expected an immediate answer.

"We have a little situation brewing downstairs. That's why I'm really here." She struck a straw in Greg's mouth and held on to the cup of juice. "There are two people demanding to see you."

"Cuddy and Wilson, no doubt." Remy huffed in frustration.

"I don't want to see them. Not now, anyway."

"Want me to run interference?" She didn't really want to but was willing if he wanted her to.

"What would you say?"

"I'd just tell them you weren't up for visitors."

"They won't settle for that. They'll brow beat you."

"Better they brow beat me than your doctor."

"Nah, that's what he gets paid for. Besides he has a team. He probably sent one of his flunkies to deal with them…speaking of which, what's going on with Cindy?"

"She had a little mishap on the job. She's fine. HR sent her home, told her to take a day or two. But if I know her, she'll be back bright-eyed and bushy-tailed tomorrow."

"Tell Cuddy to stop harassing my doctor. They'll be the first to know when I'm ready to see them."

Thirteen nodded while her lips formed a straight line of seriousness. "Got it. I'll be back up in a few." When House didn't add to the conversation, she took it as a positive sign. She was half-expecting him to tell her to leave.

Thirteen reached the Information Desk and asked where the doctors were meeting. She was directed towards the ER Conference Room where doctors talked to families. She knocked lightly on the door.

The looks on Cuddy's and Wilson's faces were priceless as they realized who was interrupting.

"Dr. Hadley, this has nothing to do with you."

Remy caught House's doctor roll his eyes. "So you're a doctor. Nice to meet you officially." He held out his hand to shake hers, happy to have a friend in his corner.

"As I was saying," Dr. Cuddy began again, "I'm his primary physician. I have the privilege to know his condition."

"I have a verbal confirmation from the patient not to discuss his case with anyone other than Dr. Nolan."

"But I'm his health care proxy," Wilson argued for the umpteenth time. "I outrank both of you." He glanced at Remy. "And you, too."

"Hey, I'm just here as a messenger from House." Thirteen held up her hands in surrender.

"Why you?" Cuddy wasn't sure if she was supposed to be upset or relieved.

Remy shrugged.

Dr. Radcliffe took back control of the meeting. "Dr. Wilson, we'll put your copy of the proxy in Dr. House's file. If we need to contact you, we will.

Dr. Cuddy, I will speak with Dr. House to determine how he wants me to proceed with keeping you updated on his condition."

"House would like the both of you to respect his wishes and not bother Dr. Radcliffe. He said you'll be the first to know when he's ready to see you," Thirteen added authoritatively.

"This isn't over," Wilson threatened, pointing a finger at Remy.

"What are you going to do? Call his mommy? Can't you just give him a few days to stabilize?"

"No," Cuddy and Wilson said in unison.

"All the more reason I should be around. He's not stable."

"He's not unconscious or insane. He can make his own decisions." Remy tried not to glare at him, but it was difficult.

"I saw him last night. He didn't look capable of anything." Wilson wasn't going to give up the fight.

"Did you follow me?" Remy was surprised and insulted.

Wilson realized how it appeared. "I was desperate for information."

"The two of you need to realize that you've overstepped your boundaries, both with me and with House. I can't speak for him, but I won't tolerate it happening again." Thirteen stood defiantly, locking eyes with Wilson, then Cuddy before leaving.


	24. No More Wasted Days and Wasted Nights

No More Wasted Days and Wasted Nights

Another sleepless night threatened to plague House. It was nearing one in the morning, and he felt wide awake. His leg ached, and not in a good way. It seemed like a good time to bug Wilson. He was lonely and longed for a familiar voice to talk to. Maybe he had let Wilson stew long enough.

He was reaching for the phone when the nurse from the other night popped in.

"I thought you were up again."

"The monitors?"

"Yep. You okay?"

"A little discomfort. Nothing major."

"It's a little late to be ordering pizza."

"Just thought I'd call a friend to chat."

"It's kind of late. Won't he be sleeping?"

"Probably."

"Then you should probably let him sleep. Might be a good idea if you get back to sleep, too."

Greg sighed heavily. "I'm up for the night."

"Do you want met to check to see if we can give you something to help?"

"Nah." He tried not to let his face express the spasm that was threatening to take hold of his thigh.

"If you're in pain-"

Obviously he wasn't doing a very good job. "Not yet, but I can feel it coming."

"Your thigh or your lower leg?"

"My thigh," he grimaced as the first wave of tension crawled down from his hip.

She checked the tension on his traction pulley. "Let me get some backup and we'll get you a bit of relief."

House just nodded in understanding. Greg was sure she was going to return with a pill or syringe.

Instead she brought another nurse. They tinkered at the end of the bed for a second or two, then both peered at their patient from behind his elevated leg.

"We're going to change the weight. It'll be uncomfortable while we switch over, but it should help."

It only took a few seconds before he felt the change in pressure. His thigh muscles were being pulled just enough to counteract the pressure of the spasms. He exhaled evenly as the traction did what it was meant to.

"Wow," he whispered.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. What'd you do, add five pounds?"

The nurses laughed.

"Three ounces. With skin traction you can't go much higher than five pounds or it will pull your skin off.

We've still got room to add more in you go into spasm again."

"This is amazing." Greg relished his near pain-free leg. "Now if only the fractures were healed.

"It's only been four days. Be patient," she chastised. "Try to get some rest."

The other nurse turned off the lights and together, they left.

Greg lay in the darkness sensing his body. He wasn't exactly comfortable, but he wasn't uncomfortable either. If he had to choose the tension he felt in his leg now over the pain of the muscle and nerve damage, he'd take this any day. The only problem was mobility.

There was no way in hell he could stay in traction indefinitely. If he had to lay in bed all day versus getting around with crutches or a wheelchair, that was a no brainer. He just wished there was a way he could have the best of both worlds.


	25. A New Day Has Come

A New Day Has Come

Remy Hadley showed up to work at her usual time. She was dreading all of the potential conversations she was going to have to have before she could get on with her day. It wasn't a good sign that Taub and Foreman were already sitting at he conference table when she arrived.

"Where's Chase," she asked casually.

"Crying 'cause he lost big time," Eric smirked.

"Who won?"

"I did," Taub said, bursting with pride.

"So like what, did Wilson call all of you and rat me out?"

"Something like that," Foreman's reply was sly.

"I don't know about him," Taub pretended Foreman couldn't hear or see what he was saying by talking behind his hand, "But Wilson said we should watch out because you're House's top flunky now."

"Not my fault the boss doesn't trust the boys in his club. Maybe I'm the guy he always wanted his Team to be." Remy headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" Foreman tried to exude authority.

"I'll be in the clinic. Call me if we get a case," she called over her shoulder, nearly walking into the Dean of Medicine.

"Dr. Hadley, just the person I was coming to see."

"Dr. Cuddy if this about House-"

"No, Remy, it's not. I wanted to apologize for the way I behaved last night."

Hadley was wary. Cuddy never backed down, even when she knew she was wrong.

"Can we talk in my office?"

Eight am started with the usual routine of vitals check and the somewhat more annoying yet necessary leg groping. If he wasn't up yet, Greg would be by the time they were done.

"Cindy coming today?" He mumbled through the morning haze.

"She's planning on visiting, but HR is forcing her to take a few days off."

"Damn, she should be more careful."

The nurses chuckled with agreement. "One of us will be back to help you with breakfast, if you want."

"Not very hungry."

"You always say that, then eat everything."

"I'm trying to be a good boy so I can get out of here."

They giggled again, finding this patient utterly charming.

He wasn't sure if they were amused by his witty personality or the fact that they thought he was some mysterious character. He hadn't thought about it, but it had to be why he was getting so much attention. It was kind of nice being treated like a human being instead of an ogre.

Just then Cindy waked in. "Wow, you're alert and smiling."

"And you're -" It wasn't until she was at his bedside that he saw the black eye. "What the hell?"

"Went a couple of rounds with a middleweight and lost."

"One of your strays turn out to be a wino?"

"Something like that. How you doing?"

"Better." He couldn't help but stare at her shiner. "They're keeping out of work for that?"

"That and the fact that 160 pound guy fell on me. HR doesn't want a lawsuit, just to be sure I don't strain anything further." She pulled his breakfast closer and started prepping to feed him.

Greg tested the wrist restraints, remembering how he ended up this way. He stared at his hands for a few moments, a frown turning his cheer to uncertainty.

"What's wrong?" Cindy saw his mood change and stopped what she was doing.

"Nothing," he deflected, but his mind kept working the clues.

"Maybe I made a mistake coming here. It's upsetting you."

He just stared at her unable to access the memories that tried to come but fled as he was about to verbalize his thoughts. Greg just nodded his head, the confusion stressing his blood pressure.

Cindy didn't even say goodbye. She backed out of the room, afraid of what might happen next.

House closed his eyes. Although he couldn't remember what transpired during the EMG, he felt anxious that it had something to do with Cindy's on-the-job accident. It was no coincidence that he was a middleweight, 160 pound object that could have caused the damage.

His stomach churned acid. He didn't remember punching anybody or falling. But then again, he remembered Amber - and she wasn't even there. Nolan was right. He was a danger, if not to himself, then to others. How could he? Greg couldn't fathom what he had done.

It was like shouting across the hospital lobby that he had conquered Lisa Cuddy. Something was seriously wrong with him. If it wasn't Vicodin abuse, it could only mean he was losing his mind. Maybe Nolan already knew it. He had made the trip to Memorial to see for himself and he had left leaving Greg leashed to the bed. There was surely a room waiting for him at Mayfield once he was allowed to leave this place.

By the time he had resigned himself to turning to Wilson and Cuddy for help, Cindy reentered the room.

"Can I come in?"

Greg ignored her.

"I'm sorry. Thought someone told you what happened."

He emotionally distanced himself, tuning her out.

"It's not the first time anyone's ever lashed out while in pain. You were out of your mind - and I put you there." Her speech had started light heartedly, but Cindy couldn't help but feel responsible for his current physical and mental state.

"I came to tell you how sorry I am. I realize that you may not care that I care about you; but you need to know that I never meant to torture you."

Greg listened but continued the charade of ignoring her. He flexed his hands, over and over, feeling the wrist restraints against his skin. He couldn't help but wonder if he was glad or disappointed about being bound.

He had done something bad. Someone got hurt; and anytime that happened and he was to blame, his father's job was to dole out an appropriate punishment. The more severe the crime - well Machiavelli said it best. And Blythe House made it easier for her husband to get away with Machiavelli's other tenet: punishment with impunity.

It was so ingrained in Greg's cognitive processing, he was often unaware that he'd purposely went looking for fights - ones' he knew he would lose. When there was no one to get a physical pounding from, he'd inflict injury upon himself; some way, somehow, and often where no one could see the damage.

So was he disappointed he couldn't self-flagellate or glad to be spared the pain? He wasn't sure how he felt. He just knew that he was aware of how he was processing these thought patterns. Nolan would call it a tremendous breath through. And no doubt he should want to work through this particular issue with the psychiatrist, but it was too raw. The emotional upheaval it would cause by tearing down the barriers was something Greg was definitely not ready for. The fact that Nolan knew the ideation existed was enough.

"…Greg are you alright?" Cindy spent the last five minutes watching him. The storm clouds in his eyes scared her, but did not pose any threat. He appeared to be lost in his own personal hell, his face so full of emotion that an infinite sadness enveloped his entirety.

She grabbed his ever flexing hand in both of hers. "Whatever you're beating yourself up over needs to stop. You're a brilliant, gifted human being. All people who suffer genius tend to be tortured souls.

"If you're feeling guilty over what happened, I absolve you. I don't place any blame on you or anything connected with you."

Greg couldn't keep his mouth shut any longer. "I don't need your forgiveness."

"Can't you at least forgive yourself?" Cindy raised her eyebrows giving away the fact that she had his modus operandi.

"You make it really hard to sulk." He stopped flexing his and hand felt hers against the one she held. He wanted those strong arms wrapped around him, her hands rubbing his back while they explored each other intimately.

Cindy let go of his hand as if an electric shock jumped from him to her. She took a step back from the bed, not trusting herself. The longing in his eyes had tapped in to her yearning for companionship. It had been so long since she took an interest in another man that it was both exhilarating and intimidating. The fact that he was her patient was taboo.

"Why…what?" Greg wasn't sure what he had done to repel her.

Cindy felt she could burst into tears at any moment. "I'm sorry, Dr. House. It was inappropriate of me to behave the way I did just now." She left the room quickly.

The other shoe had fallen. He was once again Dr. House. She found out who he was and her perception and interactions with him were skewed because of it. So much for anonymity.


	26. Cloudy with a Chance of Rain

Cloudy With a Chance of Rain

Thirteen spent the better part of her day in the Diagnostics Conference Room searching the latest articles in the journals House subscribed to. It was the only way she could distract herself from the morning confrontation with Cuddy. She was unsuccessful with the distraction part and soon switched over to playing a game on the computer.

But no matter how hard she tried to concentrate on the games, Cuddy's voice barged into her thoughts. The hospital administrator's apology would have been sufficient, but her need to clear her conscience and proclaim her feelings for House was just too much information. At the time the 'girl talk' was happening, Remy smiled politely to keep from throwing up. Now, with bits of the conversation bouncing around her brain, a constant wave of nausea caused frequent gagging.

When Taub caught her dry heaving into a waste basket he suggested she go home for the day and get some rest.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? Always willing to kick someone when they're down. Perhaps you should go down on your wife instead. Give her a reason to believe you're done cheating on her."

"Your hostility is unbecoming. Since you're obviously sick, I was just suggesting you probably shouldn't visit House and infect him with whatever you've got."

"What I've got isn't contagious, it's just exacerbated by saccharin sweet insincerity. If I wanted cancer and diabetes, I'd hang out with Wilson." Thirteen pulled her stuff together and left in a huff.

Taub watched her go, a self-satisfied smile on his face.

Dr. Radcliffe entered his patient's room cautiously. A rumor had been floating the corridors that Cindy and Greg had a confrontation of some sort that ending with both of them sulking. Since House was recovering from a psychotic episode and Cindy had her own issues with HR, Radcliffe was pretty sure nothing major transpired. He felt he at least owed it to the doctor to make sure he was being treated decently.

The patient was indeed sulking. It emanated off him in waves that vacillated through the room. A closer look at Greg's face confirmed it. Radcliffe though he might be able to lessen the attitude by unrestraining the patient. He made to unlatch the cuff.

"Don't," House said firmly.

"Don't what?" Radcliffe continued what he had begun.

"Keep the restraints on." He was direct, forceful and deadly serious.

"Greg, you haven't demonstrated any further reason to restrict you."

"Just because I haven't said or done anything doesn't mean I'm not thinking about it." His own voice sounded strange in his ears.

The doctor left him with one hand free but refrained from undoing the other. "You wanna talk about it?"

"No. Just know that it's not a good idea."

"Did something happen between you and the staff?" Radcliffe was hesitant to ask, but needed to know.

"Only that your ortho tech stopped in to show me my handiwork. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Accidents happen. Without them hospitals wouldn't make any money." Radcliffe shrugged.

"My cover's been blow. She knows I'm a doctor."

"I told you she'd figure it out. My guess is she knew it all along. Is that what the two of you argued about?"

Greg's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Rumor has it the two of you had a confrontation. She left in tears, and you were brooding."

"Why was she crying?" He was concerned and curious.

"Thought you knew. Maybe that part is rumor too."

Greg shook his head. "No. She was upset. I don't know why. I didn't say anything, so I don't know what got her going."

"Well, I wouldn't worry about it. She's just pissed she's being forced to stay home a couple of days. When she's mad, she cries. I guess it's better than punching a wall-" He noted the change in his patient's demeanor. "Don't take it personally. She's definitely not mad at you."

House's eyebrows migrated to his hairline.

"In fact, I'd say she's enamored with you."

Greg's spirit lightened with that tidbit. He held that secret knowledge close to his heart as the doctor went about his business of checking on his leg. It wasn't until an adjustment to the traction tension was made that House was brought out of his reverie. Reality was always a bummer, especially when it came with a dose of pain.

"…You okay?"

Greg nodded. Suddenly he knew what he'd do to punish himself … if he had to. His emotions were always toying with him. If there was a little sunshine, there was always a threat of a dark cloud looming in the background. It was inevitable the sun would be overshadowed.

"If your pain levels start to increase, don't wait to tell us."

"Please, put me back in restraints." It was a hard request to make, but necessary. Spending time rehashing events was all he thought he could do to keep himself company. At the moment Greg didn't feel as if he would self-inflict pain, yet he knew sure as hell he wouldn't do anything if his body decided to get him there.

Radcliffe didn't argue. However, he left implicit instructions on the chart to watch the patient carefully for increased pain and to administer treatment without being asked. He then had a few calls to make. The first was to ascertain whether or not the second would be necessary.


	27. Necessary Arrangements

Necessary Arrangements

The second call had been determined necessary. James Wilson answered on the third ring.

"Dr. Wilson," he figured it was business as usual.

"Dr. Radcliffe at Memorial. I was hoping we could speak-"

"Is he okay?" James dropped what he was doing, giving the call his full attention.

"He's hanging in there. I'd rather not discuss this over the phone."

Wilson consulted his watch. "I've got one more patient to see. I should be there in about an hour and a half."

"Meet me in my office. I want to talk to you before he knows you're here."

Wilson nodded into the phone, then realized it was moot. "I'll be there," he said before hanging up.

His mind was whirling with questions and what to do next. It felt imperative to get Cuddy in on this, but something held him back. He really didn't know much except that as Health Care Proxy, he was being asked to step in.

James nearly ran into Dr. Hadley as they both hurried to the elevator.

"Have you gotten the news on House?" The stepped into the elevator. James thought he might get some preliminary information House's surgeon wouldn't give up to him.

"What news?" Remy wasn't sure if she was being baited.

"I just got a call from his doctor at Memorial. They've called me in as his proxy."

Remy couldn't believe what she was hearing. The look on her boss's best friend's face was one of triumph. Some info was missing. She knew she had to leave now and head over there to protect House's interest.

Wilson pounced into Cuddy's office jubilant. "Guess what?" 

Cuddy looked up surprised. "You found one of House's old stashes of Vicodin and took one."

"They've evoked the HCP."

Cuddy frowned. "Why are you happy? That means-"

"It means we ultimately have control over the situation."

"It means you are to abide by his intents and wishes," Lisa used her administrator authority.

"But-"

"I won't ever do that to him again." House had never forgiven her for siding with Stacy. That's why she could never be with him the way she wanted. "He chose not to be here."

"I'm the closest thing he has to a brother." Cuddy had taken the wind right out of his sails. "That's why he chose me as his proxy. I know him best. "

"Do you?"

Remy rushed into House's room expecting the worse. What she found was no different from the last time she visited.

Greg tilted his head, wonder why it seemed like she raced to get to him. "You training for a marathon?"

She bent over, panting, trying to catch her breath. "I thought something happened."

"Why would you think that?"

"Wilson baited me."

"How?" House was suspicious.

"Said your doctor called him in as your proxy."

"Damn it! Go find the bastard and drag his ass in here."

Remy headed for the Nurses' Station grabbing at the stitch in her side. Several minutes later she returned red-faced and angry.

"What?"

"I had to keep them from coming in here and sedating you."

"What the hell is going on?"

"Calm down. They called the doctor and he's coming."

Dr. Radcliffe marched through the door angry. "You crossed the line." He pointed a finger at Dr. Hadley.

"Me?" Remy's eyes were wide.

"Why have you called Wilson in?" House's voice carried accusation and authority.

"Dr. House, you expressed that you felt you needed to be protected from yourself. I followed up with Dr. Nolan, who in turn, suggested we talk with Dr. Wilson."

"So I take a swing at your staff during a psychotic break and Nolan isn't so concerned. I request a precautionary measure to stay in place, and all of the sudden, I'm crazy?"

Both Greg and Thirteen stared down the doctor causing him to squirm.

"I asked Dr. Wilson to come to my office. I knew that if he were come in here, you'd be livid. That and the fact that I was only instructed to alert him to his potential need. Dr. Nolan is worried that you might need his assistance and not get here soon enough. We discussed the possibility of transferring you to Mayfield or having another psychiatrist take over your case."

House was glaring at him. "Why didn't you just ask me?"

"I'm not qualified to decide your level of sanity. Dr. Nolan can't evaluate you until tomorrow. Between now and then we decided to put Dr. Wilson on notice."

Remy saw the skewed logic behind their thinking. She looked to House to see if he seemed to understand.

Greg was thinking. Nolan understood his patient's unwillingness to let down his guard. Bringing in a new doctor to perform even the most basic evaluation would be futile. No way he'd breach the chasm between 'Hi, how ya doing' and 'I was abused as a child.' It was so much easier to let Wilson have his few hours of control until Nolan deemed him sane.

He nodded to Thirteen; a sign that she could back down. Before Radcliffe explained himself, Greg had considered pulling Wilson as his proxy and making Remy his go to guy. I would be fruitless if he tried. One thing he knew after living five years with a lawyer was that the insanity plea was only a bargaining chip when an army of doctors was trying to have you committed for murder. It worked against you if you needed to protect yourself from said doctors.

"Don't let Wilson transfer me to Princeton-Plainsboro. Better yet, don't let him make any decisions," Greg said with resign.

"It's only for a few hours. I'm not letting you out of that bed, let alone out the door. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a meeting." The doctor wasn't as angry, but he wasn't his pleasant self either.

"I've screwed up," House said softly to Thirteen.

"How?" Remy resumed her bedside vigil.

"It doesn't matter…the whole dynamic of this situation has changed."

"House, it's not the end of the world." She tried to sound reassuring, but he was sounding paranoid.

"No, just the end of MY control over MY world. I'm being dragged back into the Wonderful World of Wilson." He sighed heavily, weary with the thought of enduring the never ending lecture series that was sure to come.

"I seem to remember a little cricket who made sure Jimmy followed his conscience." She smiled cunningly. "I will make sure James Wilson follows your wishes. Otherwise -"

'You'll make his life a living hell," House asked hopefully.


	28. Compromises

Compromises

Wilson sat across from Dr. Radcliffe with a smug look on his face. They had barely traded pleasantries before getting down to business.

"I think it would be best if we transferred Greg to Princeton-Plainsboro. His Fellows could provide around the clock monitoring. Our Orthopedics Department would continue your treatment protocols, provided they are helpful. We're ready to receive him as soon as the paperwork is complete." Thanks to Cuddy, all Wilson had to do was produce the pre-filled forms.

Dr. Radcliffe leaned forward, his forearms balancing his upper weight on the desk. He placed his fingers tip to tip in a Montgomery Burns fashion. "Dr. Wilson, I called you here to inform you that it might become necessary for us to defer to you within the next twelve hours with regards to Dr. House's care. Greg is having some trouble dealing with news he received earlier today. He gave us the impression that he was not rational in his thinking.

"Dr. Nolan will not arrive until sometime tomorrow morning. Until then, you will be consulted if Greg needs any procedures performed."

Wilson's smugness dissipated. Unless something drastic happened, House was staying put. "Can I see him now?"

Radcliffe stood. "I'm sorry, he would prefer that you didn't."

Wilson stood as well. "This is very uncharacteristic of House. Normally when he's hurting he wants me to suffer with him."

"According to Dr. Nolan, Greg isn't willing to share his emotional pain with anybody. As for his physical pain, we seem to have that under control."

James had nothing further to say. He knew he couldn't say or do anything to change the doctor's or his friend's mind. "Tell him I hope he's feeling better, and I'll be waiting for his call."

House was bored. He and Thirteen ran out of casual conversation. Bored House was never a good thing, but it was a good sign that he was returning to his normal need for intellectual stimulation.

Remy wanted to make several suggestions to curb his mental unrest, but she knew House would shoot her down.

"How 'bout those Phillies," she joked after an uncomfortable stretch of silence.

"We can't have exhausted all avenues of conversation," Greg said with sadness.

"It's not like we have a lot in common. We kind of touched based on everything that might be interesting." Remy was trying to think of anything that could spark his interest without maker herself uncomfortable. Her thoughts kept going to her sex life, or lack therein of. House would love that just a little too much.

"Did you know I was the reason Cindy's on Workers' Comp.?"

'Speak of the devil.' "Yea, I was told. It's not like you did it on purpose."

"Still doesn't excuse my actions." Greg's hands were flexing against the restraints again. "On the bright side, she wants me to forgive myself."

Not the end of the sentence Remy was expecting. "That's good," slipped out. "Wait…I'm confused."

"What's even more confusing was her running out of the room a few moments later." Greg tried to smirk, making it seem like a joke.

Thirteen wasn't sure how he wanted her to respond. "Did you say something you shouldn't have?" She was being cautious.

"Nope. Must have made a face or blinked or something. Next thing I knew, she was out the door."

"Maybe she remembered she left the stove on."

House rolled his eyes. "Nice try."

"You think she's into chicks?"

House furrowed his brow, then raised it in surprise. "You think she's HOT!" His voice was accusatory, his face alight with mirth.

"Maybe. Not in the traditional sense, but she is charismatic."

"Well, she's not my usual type."

"What's that, hooker?"

Greg laughed. "She's not your usual type either."

"And what's my type?"

"Bi or gay. Cindy's straight. At least I think she's straight. She could be bi. She's at least into men."

"And by men, you mean you." Remy figured he was trying to push her buttons.

"According to her boss, she's, and I'm using his terminology, enamored with me." Greg could feel his smirk turn to a smile.

"Oh how nice. Your very own Florence Nightingale," she teased. "What do you plan on doing about it? If anything."

"I know what I'd like to do. But I think she's already over me. She did run out. A new record, I didn't even have to say or do anything."

"Good, now I can hit on her," Thirteen did her best to keep a straight face; but it was hard.

"If she's bi, do you think we could have a three way?"

"House!"


	29. Cause and Effect

Cause and Effect

His unexpected camaraderie with Thirteen lifted Greg's spirits and left him thinking about Cindy. He had felt a spark between them. Thirteen suggested that Cindy left because of her own issues and not something he did. Was that even possible? Like with seven degrees of separation, all events let to something Greg House did to provoke the action. His father made sure he was very aware of that fact. Could working through that knowledge with Nolan; dealing with the issues of self-blame and self-loathing, ever undo what was reinforced so strongly by his father's words and actions?

Or was he too far damaged? He lashed out verbally, hiding his true anger under bitter sarcasm and razor sharp wit, hoping to cut to the truth. He had even thrown a fist or two at Wilson, at Chase, and now a practical stranger - a woman, no less. Nature versus nurture. John House may not have been his biological dad, but he was Greg's abusive father. Monkey see, monkey do; more like the man he never wanted to be. The self-fulfilling prophesy he so desperately despised.

Greg's mind drifted elsewhere, to the many places and cultures he had been dragged into by his father's military career. He had learned so much as a young boy. Every culture had its ways; it's taboos, rites of passage and punishments. The most disturbing knowledge he came across was in Italy concerning the Opus Dei. The cilice as a means of self-punishment was barbaric. There were so many easier ways to inflict pain without permanently damaging the physical self. Yet he focused on that one element of a spiked band around the thigh, easily manipulated when needed. So real and so debilitating.

He imagined one upon himself. Not such a hard thing to do. Fate had given him his own physiological version. How ironic that life dealt him the appropriate disability. This cilice was controlled by weather, movement and mood. He could feel it constricting, tighter and tighter until he screamed out with pain.

Whether it was the sound of his own shouting or the pain itself that woke him, Greg was unsure. He wasn't even certain of the day or time. Nothing but pain mattered. Before Greg realized what was happening, it was over. He slid back to sleep.

The nurse dropped the used syringe into the sharps container by the door before assisting the second nurse with the traction tension.

"I suppose that rated a ten on the pain scale."

"Maybe an eleven or twelve."

"At least we could give him something to calm he down before we racked him. Wish we could give him some pain meds."

"Maybe they're worried he'll spill some national secrets or something."

"Wonder if he got that scar from being tortured."

"I never thought about that. I just figured…"

The both were watching the monitor to see if his heart rate would come down with the pain relief. But so far it hadn't.

"We should add another half pound."

They did so staying silent for a while afterward.

"His face looks like he's still in pain."

"His vitals indicate discomfort. Can we go higher on the weight?"

The second nurse checked the strapping taped areas of the patient's leg for any signs of skin breakdown. "Up to a half pound more, I'd say."

At four pounds Greg's leg was stretched to the max without damaging internal or external systems. Within a few minutes he seemed to experience relief as far as his heart rate showed. They'd know more in a few hours when the Atavan wore off.

When Greg did wake it was like déjà vu. Nolan was standing at his bedside waiting for him. He felt groggy and sore, unable to focus on anything immediately except for the pressure exerted on his thigh. He wanted nothing more than to rub the stickiness from his eyes, but the restraints were still in place.

"Welcome back." No smiles from Nolan this time.

"Where'd I go?" House looked around to see if it was the same room he started off in. "Did Wilson have me transferred?"

"You're still at Memorial. Yesterday you wanted Dr. Radcliffe to keep you from potentially harming yourself. You wanna talk about it?"

"Old habits die hard." Greg wasn't particularly up for this type of discussion so soon after waking.

"Are you suicidal?"

He shook his head negatively.

"But you wanted to hurt yourself."

"More like punishment. Since I couldn't get the nurses to lay into me…"

"Do you still feel the need for retribution?"

"Not with the way my leg feels."

"If you weren't in pain?"

"Not anymore."

Nolan believed him. He had known his patient had an unusual need for self-castigation in the absence of his father. Greg had spoken of it before; shown signs of the fights he picked so he could lose. He freed House from his shackles.

"Are you going to tell me what got you feeling this way?"

"I thought it was pretty obvious, seeing that I hit a girl and all." The snark was back in full defense mode.

"That was not your fault."

Greg frowned. "Gotta blame someone."

"Why?"

"That's the way it is. Cause and effect."

"What if I tell you the cause was a misfiring of synapses, and the effect was a muscle movement."

"My brain, my body."

"Not consciously. And therefore, not your fault." He saw an argument brewing behind Greg's eyes. "Your body was merely a vessel."

"You make it sound like I was possessed." Greg rubbed the skin around his wrists.

"I'll reserve judgment on possession when I witness your head spinning while you spew split pea soup." Nolan managed a small smile.

"Am I waiting on your clearance in order to get out of here?"

"You want to forego working with the staff here on pain management?" Nolan was surprised. "You're only here for that reason."

"Hopefully it won't be too much longer. I'm getting tired just laying here."

"You go now and there will be no relief. Can't be in traction and not be monitored."

"Can't lay here for eight weeks, either."

"This kind of talk you need to have with Dr. Radcliffe. You and I need to focus on the emotional stuff. Unless you want to be in pain…do you?"

Greg was quiet. He wasn't sure how to answer the question. He hated not being able to control the pain like when he abused Vicodin. The lessening of pain was like missing a friend, one that let you know no matter how miserable life could be, it would never abandon you. It was the symbiotic relationship that he had trouble living without.

"I've suffered chronic pain for so long, I can't remember-"

"You're not just talking about the leg."

"At some point my dad stopped seeing me as just his son and started treating me like one of his recruits."

"You carry your father's baggage making it your own. Did you deserve the punishments he doled out?"

Greg made to answer. Nolan held up his hands. "Before you answer, let me qualify that. Did his punishment fit the crime?"

"Today a parent even threatening to do what he did would be arrested.

"He beat me, trying to break me like the jarheads who challenged him. But I was too young to know the difference between a 'beating' and a 'beat down'."

"What's the worst thing you did?"

Greg had to think about it. "The worst thing according to him or to me?"

"Let's start with the worst thing you think you did." Nolan took a seat giving his patient a chance to think about it without someone hanging over him.

"Nothing I did deserved the type of punishment he dished out. I did worse things he never found out about."

"And the worst thing he thought you did?"

Thinking back, House found it funny - the situation at least. "He found me in a compromising situation with the girl next door."

"He caught you having sex? How old were you?"

"Fifteen, give or take."

"What was the punishment," Nolan asked hesitantly.

Greg swallowed hard. He hadn't thought about the incident since then. He shook his head. "I…I can't."

"He can't hurt you anymore."

"I've never told anybody. It's not even a part of my medical history."

"Should it be?" Nolan stood up, unsure whether he should approach his patient or give him space.

"He was high ranking. Nobody questioned him. He was feared, yet he had a way of making light of a situation, especially if it was embarrassing for him. It garnered a false sense of trust where he needed it, making it that much easier to cover his tracks."

"So it wasn't just a beating?" Nolan turned his attention out the door into the corridor. He wasn't sure he wanted to see Greg's face as he told the story, or if he wanted Greg to see his reaction.

"It was a strategic attack on a particular part of the body." He was hoping he wouldn't have to be any more specific.

"It was bad enough to require medical attention…"

"He didn't think so. My mother found me writhing in pain. She forced him to take me to the infirmary on base."

"I'm guessing there were other injuries that were written off as that of a rough and tumble kid."

Greg nodded. "He had to come up with a good excuse for that one, though."

"Any lasting physical side effects?"

"Just an aversion to steel-toed boots."

"I'm sorry for making you go through that again."

"You have nothing to be sorry for."

"You suffered at his hands for years without anyone to protect you. A parent's betrayal is the worst thing a child can suffer. It leads to so many core pathologies that finding prime adaptive ego qualities takes a lot of work.

"We can't change what happened. We can only work on changing how you process the cause and effect of your actions."


	30. Doctor  Patient Confidence

Doctor-Patient Confidence

Cuddy was sitting at her desk reviewing spreadsheets for the upcoming Board Meeting when her phone rang. She answered it casually while still perusing her work.

"House?" He had barely said two words before she recognized his voice. She was astonished to hear from him but glad he called. "I'll see if the nanny can stay longer. Don't call Rachel a rugrat. I can't come now, I'm in the middle of things. I'll be there when I can."

Lisa hung up and immediately dialed her home number. Before she could finish, she put the receiver back in the cradle. "What did I just do?"

She closed her files, organized her desk and readied herself to leave the hospital for the day. At the Reception Desk she scribbled a note for Wilson and left it in his message slot.

A half an hour later she was pulling into Memorial's parking lot and heading for House's room. She had no problems obtaining a pass to the floor. Standing outside the door, Lisa mentally prepared herself to be calm and understanding.

Slowly she made her way in not wanting to startle him. She wasn't expected until much later. Since she still didn't know what had happened, finding House in his current state was a bit unnerving.

"You're early." There was no snark or accusation, just a tad of relief and a small smile.

"I'm your boss. I thought I should be supportive. I'm also your doctor. I wanted to make sure you were okay." She looked at the traction apparatus. "It looks like it hurts a lot."

"This is actually keeping me out of pain." House responded happily.

"Are you going to let me look at your medical records?"

"Look to your heart's content. I've got nothing to hide."

"Any internal injuries?" Cuddy moved closer to get a better look at him.

"I slipped on some ice and broke my leg. I wasn't rock climbing Kilimanjaro." The snark was back.

"I would have known that if you had just told us upfront."

Greg frowned.

Lisa sighed. "I'm sorry. I was under the assumption that you were hit by an SUV."

"Where'd you get that idea?" House was slightly amused.

"Wilson," she said sheepishly.

"Wilson. How'd he come up with the MVA scenario?"

"One of your neighbors said you had been run down and that the person responsible put you in her vehicle and drove off."

"And you believed it." Greg started to laugh. "In general, people are idiots. Seems like Wilson is the biggest one of all."

"We were worried sick," Cuddy protested. "You were missing after Wilson got your call, and nobody knew what happened to you."

"And yet you believed some half-assed story from a complete stranger."

"There are crazies out there, House. You, of all people, are not immune."

"No, I seem to attract them."

Cuddy grabbed his hand. "At least you're going to be okay."

House nodded. "That I am." He lifted his gaze from where her hand held his to her face. "And I'd prefer it if my situation stays private until I'm ready to tell people."

"Does that include Wilson?"

"Doctor-Patient confidentiality. I'm going to hold you to it."

"The only people who will need to know are the Board. Wilson's on the Board." She was frowning. "After I meet with Dr. Radcliffe, I'll wait twenty-four hours before the notification."

Greg spent the rest of the afternoon thinking about what he'd say to Wilson. He wasn't angry or resentful toward him; he just didn't feel the need to have his friend around. It was like Greg was given an opportunity to explore new relationships in a controlled environment. Without James' running commentary on the pros and cons of each issue, House was able to form his own opinion. If Wilson was allowed into this world, Greg would fall into old habits.

Although he had a propensity for gossip, this new environment was teaching him to be self-reliant. If he wanted or needed something, he had to ask. There was no one there to advocate for him. The shame and doubt associated with needing assistance was slowly abating. The nurses were always willing and pleasant; without being sappy. The prejudice that came with Wilson would certainly taint the atmosphere.

As it was, he had asked Cuddy not to return either. He was feeling emotionally stable, aside from the brief episode. His time at Memorial was having a positive effect. It was as if his psyche was detoxing from the oppression of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Here he could get bad news, but it was always offset with the potential for a positive outcome. No, he wouldn't say there was hope; he'd just chalk it up to advances in modern medicine. He didn't want his new outlook to be discounted by anyone but himself.

Dr. Radcliffe entered with some of his staff in tow. A sinking feeling rebounded in the pit of Greg's stomach.

"I had a long talk with Dr. Cuddy." He gave his patient a pitying look. "She asked some relevant questions that we didn't think to speak to you about."

"Leave it to Cuddy to stir up the pot." Greg rolled his eyes.

"She thinks you need to get up and around."

"And no doubt, back to work," he groaned.

"Needless to say, we're going to start prepping you for the first part."

Greg wasn't sure what they were planning to do. It was making him a little more than uncomfortable to think that Cuddy coerced his doctor into siding with her.

"Relax, we're just going to adjust the tension. Think of it as modifying the dosage until we get to a nice homeostasis." The doctor went about the business of checking out Greg's leg beyond what the nurses did every four hours.

"How long has your foot been cold?" Radcliffe looked at him curiously.

"It doesn't feel cold."

"Capillary refill is good," he said squeezing the tips of the patient's toes. "And the pedal pulse is strong."

"All positive signs."

"Just to be on the safe side we're going to lower the angle a few degrees."

It was a slow process as they swapped out pulley traction for hanging traction by using a wide sling under his thigh and two smaller ones under the lower leg. Almost immediately Greg felt a series of different sensations. There was a change in pressure in his lower back causing his hip muscles to contract slightly. He thought for sure he'd spasm.

"We're counterbalancing with your own weight. All you have to do is stay relaxed and not move around too much and you'll be fine."

"What do I do if I get a spasm?" Greg was anxious, and it was affecting his common sense.

"First, don't wait until you're in full contraction. You'll have some twitching on and off for a while. If it feels like they're getting stronger or closer together, call the nurse. We'll give you something."

The doctor patted him on the shoulder. "Relax, we're not going to let you suffer."

That didn't ease all of House's concerns. Maybe he did need Wilson's voice to either reassure him or help Greg to bolster his confidence by arguing with his friend. He grabbed for the phone and dialed without having to think.

"You have reached the voicemail of James Wilson. Please leave your name, the time you called and a return number."

House waited for the annoying beep. "Wilson, you missed my call. Tough luck."

Maybe he was on another date. Maybe stuck in traffic on his way home. Either way, Greg had no intention of trying again tonight. He was just too tired.


	31. Change Is A Good Thing?

Change Is a Good Thing?

"House called me last night," Wilson burst into Cuddy's office before heading to his own after entering Princeton-Plainsboro.

"Great!" Cuddy was relieved House had kept his word.

"Not great. I missed the call." James started pacing before the Dean.

"Oh," Lisa wasn't sure how to proceed.

"He sounded perturbed that I didn't answer."

"What do you expect? He's moody and probably hurting. Cut him some slack."

"Wait…you talked to him, didn't you?" James paced more slowly while biting his pinky nail.

"Yes," she offered tentatively. "But only as his employer and his doctor."

Wilson looked over his shoulder at Cuddy. "What does that mean?"

"Lisa stood up, hoping she'd be able to herd him to a seat. "I went to see him on his request. I spoke to his doctor, then left. It wasn't a social call."

"Should I go see him?"

Cuddy eased him by the shoulders to a nearby chair. "He's not up for visitors."

"But Thirteen-"

"He asked me not to return either."

"Why doesn't he want us there to help him?"

She shrugged. "Not sure. Maybe he wants to work through this himself."

"So then it can't be that serious," Wilson nodded, giving in.

"He asked me not to tell you." Lisa felt the need to further clarify her position as James could only stare at her, his mouth slightly open, trying form words. "It's his right to let you know what's going on. And from the missed call, he tried last night."

Wilson closed his mouth and hung his head feeling defeated.

"James, he'll call back. He was probably tired and needed sleep."

Greg awoke feeling somewhat rested. He didn't need any pain relief during the night, which was unusual but a good sign. What he couldn't figure out was why his senses hadn't been assaulted by the usual morning crews. The monitor next to his bed was off; no wires or I.V.s connecting him to equipment. It didn't seem right. He reached for the call button.

"Good morning Mr. House. We'll be right in with your breakfast."

Now he knew it was a dream. So far it seemed like a good one. Greg closed his eyes as he smiled wondering what was going to happen next.

The door was flung open and a cadre of personnel came through. The first nurse set his breakfast tray on the table and rolled it over to the bed. The second checked his vitals manually, while two others did the usual DVT checks.

"You look perplexed." The first nurse raised his head so he could eat and drink.

"Just wondering when I'm going to wake up."

"You are awake, Greg," she said patting his forearm.

It was as good as a pinch. "This can't be possible."

"Why?" She was smiling as widely as he was.

"I feel good. And I'm not hooked up to this, that and the other thing. Why?"

"After your adjustments yesterday afternoon you fell asleep. You've had no pain, no medication, no need for all the bells and whistles. We even put a 'do not disturb' sign on your door to keep anyone from waking you prematurely."

"That explains the unnaturally quiet morning."

"And," she pulled off the top of the food tray, "solid food."

Grey's eyes widened with delight. His stomach rumbled for added emphasis. "Finally, I'm starved."

"If you need anything; just push the button."

He had to restrain himself from scarfing down the bacon and eggs so he could thoroughly enjoy them. All too soon he had worked his way through everything on the tray wishing he had more.

A remarkable sense of contentment filled him. He was able to lie back and relax. It was definitely an unexpected side effect and an omen that he could be released soon. The only drawback was knowing it wouldn't last for long.

Almost as soon has he thought that, his door swung open and in walked Cindy.

"Back so soon?"

"And hello to you too."

Behind her cheerful façade he heard the familiar bit of sarcasm. I thought you weren't supposed to be-"

"I just couldn't stay away."

"I know, I'm irresistible," Greg teased.

"No, more like I got bored."

"It's good to have you back."

Somehow neither one of them believed Greg's cheerfulness at this particular situation. To the man, himself, he sounded a bit phony, even though he meant it. For Cindy it seemed so out of character compared to their interactions just days before. It was an awkwardness that made them both wince internally, each unsure if it had to do with an unspoken attraction they felt for the other.

"I haven't felt this good in a long time," Greg backpedaled, explaining his giddiness.

"Really," she said suspiciously.

"My right leg feels normal…whole."

"Interesting, since breaking a leg usually results in the exact opposite feeling."

"I thought the same thing." He smiled thinking she was so in sync with him.

"Too bad I'm going to have to change that." She walked over to the area where gloves were kept for easy reach.

"You're not joking, are you." How easily a smile turned upside down.

"'Fraid not." She returned to the bed, then stopped dead in her tracks. "Dang. Forgot something. Be right back."

It took her less than a minute, and when she re-entered the room, she was carrying a stack of pillows. "I'll do my best not to inflict more discomfort that necessary."

Greg watched as Cindy strategically placed the pillows under his leg in order to release the tension on the slings. She had a gentle touch, and he imagined her hands holding him.

She could feel his eyes follow her moves and tried hard not to let it affect her performance. "I'm going to re-glove since I've touched a bunch of stuff."

"You're going to rip the hair off my leg removing these straps," Greg growled. The thought was not pleasing.

"I promise not to." Cindy proceeded to remove the metal rods that ran the length of his leg.

"Don't make promises you can't keep." He was half teasing, half serious.

"Oh, I'm pretty sure there's no hair to rip out seeing how we shaved your leg first."

"You shaved my leg? Gads that's awkward." _To bad I missed it though,'_he thought. The idea of her touching him like that made 'Little Greggy' stir.

Gently she pulled back on the first strap. It came away easily, leaving no goo behind.

"That's not so bad," he had to admit.

"It really shouldn't be. They've only been stuck on a few days."

"So where do we go from here?"

Cindy turned her head taking the long look up his body to his face. "Next stop, cast central."

"That again?" Greg wasn't very hopeful.

"We have new information. You're thigh seems to like hanging around. If you can do it in a cast, all the better." Cindy was matter of fact.

"Then what?"

She gave him the same long look. It was hard not to feel like he was baiting her with vague questions. With him it wasn't easy to tell by his facial expressions. If Greg didn't rephrase to qualify the type of response he was looking for, she would assume he meant with respect to his prognosis.

Nothing else was added. "If we can keep you feeling good, we'll set the system up at home."

"Hmm. Stuck in bed at home. I don't know what's worse: here or there."

"Here. There you and your girlfriend can have all the sex you want," she said without thinking.

"Ex-squeeze me?" Greg wasn't sure if he was shocked or amused. He had told her Thirteen was bisexual and just a friend. No wife or girlfriend came in. Was her remark a fishing expedition?

Cindy was red-faced. "Oops, didn't mean for that to slip out."

"You'd think if there was a girlfriend she'd have visited by now. No, I'm alone in this great big 'ole world," he said wistfully.

"I don't believe that for a minute. You've got Thirteen, and those two doctor friends who tried to drag you back to Princeton-Plainsboro," she finished peeling away the strapping tape.

"By the way, how long have you known I'm a doctor?" Greg tilted his head and over-exaggeratedly glared at her.

"I knew who you were when I got a good look at you in the ER."

"Radcliffe said you figured it out. Thanks for not telling anyone."

"Not my place." She took the pile of used tape to the trash bin.

"Do you flirt with all of your patients?"

Cindy straightened up as if he had jabbed her with a poker.

Greg tried not to laugh. He had been baiting her question after question. This one was no different.

She turned slowly. "Only the ones who are doctors. Why you interested in getting hooked up?" Two could play his game.

"Uh…wha-"

The look on his face was priceless. "Just what I thought." She walked over to the closet and pulled out the splint that had been made for him before the EMG fiasco. "Look what I found!"

"Oh, that old thing." Greg mimicked an old lady playing down her best dress.

Cindy's hands were on him again. She had such a light touch, sensual and scintillating. During the time she was wrapping the elastic bandages and reattaching the slings, he said nothing, just watched with fascination.

"Better?"

Greg nodded, afraid to speak for fear his voice would crack with emotion.

"Pain?" She wasn't sure why he had such a strained look on his face.

"No," he said softly, his voice a little higher than usual.

"See, I told you I'd hook you up." Cindy smiled wickedly.

"You make me feel good." It sounded like a cross between sarcasm and a confession.

"All part of the job." Cindy made notes in his chart, choosing to ignore the double entendre of his last remark.


	32. Peace Offerings

Peace Offerings

Wilson sat in his usual seat during lunch. He was feeling the loneliness of the void left by House's absence. No new calls had been intercepted. He figured his friend had to be awake by now, so why didn't he call? Should he try calling the hospital? Cuddy had told him to be patient.

Thirteen entered, spied Wilson and approached. James wasn't sure if he wanted her to sit with him or not. Before he could get up and leave, she slunk into the seat across from him.

"Hey, how you holding up?"

"Just waiting for his call."

Remy nodded in understanding. "You might want to bring a peace offering. A dry Reuben might be nice."

"Is that your peace offering to me - give me ideas on how to get back in House's good graces?"

"I didn't know we were at war," Thirteen said innocently.

"No, but you knew House was pissed. Did you two dissect me during your little chats?"

"First of all," Remy stood, angry with the doctor for spewing his jealous accusations in a public place, "I'm not sure House is pissed; but I now realize that he should be. And second, his world does not revolve around you, no matter how much you wish it did."

"I'm sorry," Wilson conceded. "I've been emotionally conflicted over this whole ordeal. I've blown off House before. It backfired a few times, but we've always gotten over it. Since Mayfield, his need has been more for a partner in crime; let's have some fun situations. He's cried wolf so many times before, how was I supposed to know?"

Remy sat back down. Wilson needed someone to talk to and she didn't feel like finding another place to eat in peace. "I can't tell you anything personal about your friendship. All I'm willing to say is he's dealing with some things right now that he's not willing to share."

"He shared with you."

"Not really. I've just been a body in the room. We don't share thoughts, emotions or information. WE haven't really talked at all."

"Somehow I find that believable." Wilson hated all these dead ends. Yet being told that House hadn't shared anything specific with Remy was a relief unto itself.

"He's asked for his knapsack and it's contents. I haven't had the heart to tell him nothing survived. So I'll leave that up to you."

"Great," James snorted. "He's pissed at me for not being there. When he finds out his stuff has been destroyed. I'm not going to catch a break at all."

"That's why I'd bring the Reuben."

House stared down at his lunch. Breakfast had been amazing. He guessed it was because he was hungry. This looked so unappealing. Lunchtime. The perfect time to bug Wilson. What he wouldn't give to be able to snag a few fries off his plate right now. He pushed the tray table aside and reached for the phone.

"James Wilson." Wilson looked at the caller ID. "House, finally!"

"Calm down before you wet your pants."

"You're sounding normal."

"I'm doing okay."

"So…"

"Yeah, about that. I'm in a good place right now. Mentally, I mean. I'm working through some new developments in pain management and other psychological stuff."

"That's good." James wanted to be supportive yet couldn't help wondering why House didn't want him around.

"You don't sound one hundred percent happy for me." House could tell by the way his friend was hesitantly breathing.

"For years we've had a routine, a pattern of dealing with your pain. Now that's changed. I'm feeling a bit left out in the dark."

"I'm burgeoning forth in my ability to be more self-reliant. I'm trying to break old habits." Greg realized that sounded a little crass. "Not that I'm purposefully treating you like a mushroom."

"Is there any place for me in this new incarnation of you?"

"Of course, Jimmy. I'm working through this day by day."

"Got any idea what day I might fit in?"

"When I figure it out, you'll be the first to know."

"So you're not going to tell me what happened to get you where you are now?"

"Oh, that. I slipped on the ice. That's when I called you. Didn't know at the time, but I broke my leg. A neighbor took me to the hospital she works at. So now you have the story."

"You couldn't just tell us that?" Wilson slipped into his usual lecture mode, perturbed by all the useless secrecy.

"And this is why I didn't just tell you. If I had, you'd have run to my rescue, and I'd be stuck at Princeton-Plainsboro instead of here."

James heard the anger creeping into his friend's voice. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to rile you. You're right. Here you'd have been patched up and back on the job; not dealing with issues."

"This has been a life altering experience for me. It's a good thing that I don't want to end anytime soon."

"Didn't know traction could be so enjoyable."

"How'd you find out about that?"

"Snuck in a couple of nights ago. You weren't looking so good then."

"Hit a rough patch. A lot has changed in the past twenty-four hours.

Cindy popped in, noted he was on the phone and started to head back out. Greg snapped his fingers trying to get her attention without letting Wilson know she was there. She faced him, ready to scold him. He put his finger to his lips to shush her, the curled said finger to call her over.

"Uh huh." Wilson started to put two and two together. Maybe they had to give him opiates.

"You're exceptionally silent." House knew Wilson was planning his next move.

"Just wondering . . ." James didn't want to admit his concern and have his friend hang up on him.

Wilson's tension was palpable over the phone. Greg knew if he didn't offer Wilson something to appease him, he'd pay for it later. "Okay. Stop salivating. You can come visit on two conditions: one, bring something edible; and second, leave your self-righteous attitude at the door."

James was smiling. "I'll see you tonight after work."

Once the phone was back on the cradle Cindy started what she came in to do.

"You just can't keep your hands off of me. You like touching me, don't you?"

"What would you say if I told you I did?" She was feeling a bit feisty. Cindy knew she wanted to spend time getting to know Greg, but wasn't sure if his previous advances were in fun or suggestive of how he felt.

Greg thought he was prepared with a witty retort, but he found himself unable to speak it. _Damn, what was it about her that caught him off guard?_

She couldn't read his face this time, but the fact that he didn't say anything spoke volumes. "What's the matter, not in a playful mood?"

There were just too many thoughts running through his head to keep his mind focused. "How late are you working?"

"My usual shift, why, you wanna go out dancing afterwards?"

"Got a friend dropping by after work."

"Don't worry, I'll be out of here by then." She finished charting his progress.

"I was kind of hoping you'd still be around."

Cindy looked at him, astonished. Was he hoping she'd volunteer to stay? "If you didn't want this person to visit, you probably shouldn't have invited him."

Greg harrumphed. "I know. I had a moment of weakness."

"So call the person and tell him you changed your mind." Cindy thought it was a pretty simple solution.

"I wish it was that easy. Wilson would come anyway. He always thinks he has an answer for everything. So it's easier to just let him come and do his thing. Then I can ignore him until the next crisis presents itself." Greg was picking at the blanket, trying to avoid Cindy's eyes.

"Kind of like ripping off a bandage." Cindy nodded that she understood his dilemma. "Better to get it over with quick."

Greg wanted to ask her to stay, just to be in the room for moral support. But he couldn't come out and ask her. What reason could get her to hang out? But then he envisioned Wilson getting a virtual tongue lashing from her.

Cindy recognized the sly look in his eyes. "What are you thinking?"

"If you stayed, you could bully him around a bit for me."

"Oh, I think you're pretty capable of bullying him yourself." She patted his hand. "I'd like to stay, but I have this thing."

"A thing. I see. No, it's okay. Leave me in my time of need. I'll be okay." Greg faked being upset.

"You're too much," she laughed. "But just in case you need to vent afterwards," Cindy wrote down her number on a napkin she found on his tray table, "call me."


	33. Taking Chances

Taking Chances

Wilson arrived relatively empty handed. House was expecting a little more than a bag of take out food. Why couldn't any of his visitors remember his book bag? As a matter of fact, he couldn't place the last time he had it. Crap! Maybe it was in the back of Cindy's SUV. He hoped it was in the vehicle, otherwise it had been forgotten on the street.

"Whatcha got for me?" Judging by the look on Wilson's face, Greg figured the minute his mouth opened, the gushing would begin. Might as well start the conversation right off the bat.

"A Reuben, just the way you like it."

"You don't happen to know the whereabouts of my backpack." Greg grabbed the Styrofoam container and popped it open, eyes wide with wonderment only a dry Reuben could bring. "I've been starving for one of these. Thanks."

"Glad I could help you out." Wilson took a seat next to the bed. He wasn't sure where to start the conversation.

House broke the ice. "My Team have any good cases?"

"Nothing they haven't been able to handle."

"So I take it my stuff's gone."

"What stuff?"

"The contents of my backpack."

"Oh, that. Yeah…well, you'll have to replace it."

House sighed sadly. "Oh well. Weren't nothing in there anyways."

"I tried to salvage the New England Journal of Medicine and the Hustler, but the pages were all stuck together after they dried. The PSP was crunched along with your glasses."

"No big loss, I guess."

"As long as we don't lose you, we're good."

House furrowed his brow. "Why are you and Cuddy worried? This isn't the first time I fall down go boom. Chances are it won't bet he last time, either."

"Pardon us for caring whether you live or die," Wilson said as he jumped to his feet and began pacing.

House knew from his conversations with Thirteen that Wilson had been racked with guilt. It was fun to watch him dance around the issues he really wanted to address with House, and Greg played on that.

"So…what's on your mind, Jimmy-boy?

Wilson continued to pace, assumingly collecting his thoughts and strategizing how to approach the topic. Greg watched him stew, satisfied in the knowledge that Wilson was agonizing over his own decisions and not his friend's well-being.

The pacing was getting annoying. "Relax, Wilson, you're not guilty of anything." House said it not because he meant it, but because he knew his friend needed to hear it.

Wilson stopped, finding himself on the other side of the room. He faced his friend, a grateful smile on his face. "You're like the boy who cries wolf when you're needy."

"Don't forget, in my version, in the end, the boy and his family get eaten by the wolf."

"I forget that in the 'world of House' you learned 'fractured fairytales'."

"The price of having the father I had."

"So maybe we should have a code word for when the wolf has started eating you. That way I'll know to drop my life and come rescue you." James could already see the fault in that logic.

"I would have thought 'I'm in pain' would be enough." House's tone was harsh without meaning to be.

"I know. I realized it after I hung up. I called back but you didn't answer. I came to see you, but you were already gone." Wilson's explanation was lame and he knew it. He also knew House wasn't looking for an apology. He was in need of a reason to trust again.

Greg lay there, so many snide remarks on the tip of his tongue, that he was surprised they didn't drop off like little cluster bombs. He was aware of Wilson's deep seeded need to be there for people ever since his brother disappeared from his life. Telling Wilson he was not his brother's keeper was moot. It wouldn't change who he had become and how he would react to people he thought he could help. Hell, he'd given a lobe of his liver to a practical stranger.

Wilson returned to the chair, curious as to why his friend remained silent for so long. Could it be that he was censoring himself? Maybe he was just choosing his words carefully in order to inflict the most damage.

"This is ridiculous."

Wilson looked up at him.

"Stop sulking. Do you think I would have dropped everything if it had been you calling me?"

"No. But then I wouldn't expect you to. You, on the other hand-"

"See, that's where your thinking goes wonky. What I think or expect is my problem. I can try make it your problem, but only you can take on the responsibility. You give me way too much power."

"But-"

"Growing up I had only myself to rely on. When I did find people to associate with, I tended to use them. Not because I could, because I never learned that whole give and take thing. I didn't seem to matter as my dad would get shipped out and I'd move on to new people. Nobody ever stayed around long enough to set limits. People like you, Stacy and Cuddy put up with me. Stacy left because she needed to be needed. But you and Cuddy…it's like your gluttons for punishment."

"So this week of being incommunicado was punishment?"

"It would seem that way. Initially I was peeved that you ditched me." He frowned as Wilson flinched with his words. "But then it became less about anyone else and more about me."

"It's always about you, House."

"I am the most important person in the world to me. Anyway, that's not what I mean. I was embarrassed about being a klutz. Furthermore, I didn't even realize I was in serious trouble. Then I end up in this magical place with strangers willing to help me without any backlash. No one cared who or what my history was. It was like I had a clean slate and a chance to try some coping mechanisms I've learned. I was successful. And kind of proud of myself for going it alone."

"I'm glad you feel that way." Wilson nodded. "But don't forget Thirteen was involved."

_There is was_, House sighed. "Don't do that, Jimmy."

"Do what?"

"Cheapen what I'm feelings by discounting it. I'm struggling to be honest and forthright. You're reaction is to point out that it isn't as valid as I think it is."

"We do it to each other all the time. It's banter, for god sakes."

"I'm finding that all the negativity is dragging on me lately. It's like my oily duck feathers have been plucked away. Stuff's just not rolling off like it used to."

Wilson felt like the man in the bed was a complete stranger. What drugs had they given him to make the cranky old man wishy-washy? Hopefully the new and improved House was only a temporary thing.

"I feel like no matter what I say to you will be misconstrued as patronizing," Wilson confessed. "I'm a little disconcerted by whatever THIS is," he gestured, referring to everything and anything.

Wilson only stayed a few moments longer. Greg didn't have much else to say to him out loud. The tension in the room became unbearable. So before either one of them could snipe, he made an excuse and left.

Greg didn't want to let his friend's insecurities bother him, but it wasn't easy. It never was. He was just better at keeping his emotions bottled up instead of talking about the things that pissed him off. Somehow, with most of his colleagues, snarkiness was the only way anyone would take what he said seriously. When he was somewhat polite and direct, people assumed he was in an altered state. It made House's attempts at behavior modification seem futile. It was one point he needed to take up with Nolan at their next meeting.

For now he could replay the scene in his head just to dwell on it, or he could distract himself with something else. Unfortunately there wasn't a lot of something else. He did have one thing, though.

Greg pulled the napkin out from under the blanket. He snorted back a laugh as he treated the piece of paper like a secret love note. He wanted to call her, but not to vent. Would she be upset if he called but didn't complain? Was that even possible for him?

He had the receiver in his hand and was dialing. What would he say? But there was no time to answer that as Cindy picked up.

"Hey, it's Greg."

"You sound bummed." She plopped down on her sofa, careful not to drop her bowl of cereal while cradling her cell phone between her ear and shoulder.

"This is usually how I sound after a conversation with Wilson."

"Everything go okay?"

"The usual."

"That's what you expected, wasn't it?" Greg's sigh was audible over the phone. "Don't give him that kind of authority. You let him suck the life force right out of you."

"I didn't mean to." House fiddled with the phone cord. "It just kind of happens."

"I get it. Same thing happens to me when I talk to a few of my so-called friends."

"What do you do about it?"

"Same thing you do," she laughed nervously.

"You're no help," he scoffed.

"If it's help you're looking for, you've come to the wrong place. A friend on the other hand…"

"Friends are good. I'm told you can never have enough of them."

"Well now, I wouldn't go that far."

"What are you wearing?"

Cindy spit out a mouthful of cereal. "Uh, not exactly the kind of question you ask a friend."

House scrunched up his face realizing he just blew it. "Sorry, bad habit."

Cindy was laughing, and he wasn't sure why. He gave her a moment to catch her breath.

"You obviously find me charming."

"Charming? Don't know if I'd use that exact word."

"How would you describe me?"

"Interesting. Definitely interesting."


	34. Friends With Benefits

Friends with Benefits

By Saturday morning Greg had been feeling giddy. His pain levels hit plateau at a tolerable five. He was due to get out of the splint and into a cast so he could be on his way out of there. That in itself would make anybody happy, yet his giddiness was due to another reason. Her name was Cindy, and she was taking him home.

Once Greg informed her that her boss was aware of her feelings for him, Cindy became more relaxed around him. She was easier to talk to and more open with her opinions. She also listened to Greg and didn't pass judgment on things he said that she didn't necessarily agree with.

She managed to swap her Saturday off for a Sunday shift so that should could help Greg get adjusted to home life. He still wasn't willing to let his friends help him, reasoning that they'd only see him as a burden. Cindy didn't argue, even though she wanted to tell him that if they were really friends, it wouldn't be a problem. It was just another quirk about him she'd get used to in due time.

Greg was in the casting room now with someone else groping him while she read a magazine in the waiting room. It was better this way, she told herself. The attraction they had for each other was growing. Neither one of them seemed able to hide it. He'd reach out to touch her arm, her hand, any part he could get to when she was in the room tending to him. And she let him, often acknowledging his touch with one of her own. She wondered if she looked at him with longing like he did with her.

The idea of going to his apartment was a bit daunting. She barely knew anything about his personal life. He could be a slob or pervert for all she knew. Yet if he was, it certainly didn't seem to faze him. He warned her he couldn't remember what state the place was in or if it was the week the housekeeper came. Greg did promise that nothing would jump out and get her.

Cindy glanced at her watch just as Greg was wheeled out of the room.

"You didn't get fresh with the tech, did you?"

Greg grinned. "Jealous already? I don't think Raphael and I could ever hit it off. Nothing he did excited me." He winked.

Cindy pursed her lips to hold back a laugh. She smacked his shoulder playfully.

They said nothing else on the subject as the orderly rolled his eyes.

"I'm going to bring the monster mobile closer to the doors." Cindy jogged ahead and around the corner out of sight. By the time House reached the exit, she was just pulling up.

He hoisted himself out of the wheelchair, crutching the ten yards like a pro, only to be winded at the finish line.

"Take it easy, Speedy. You've got no one to impress," Cindy scolded.

House was contemplating his next move: getting into the vehicle.

"Same as last time," Cindy read his thoughts. She assumed the position and boosted him up and in.

"Why do I feel like you used to be in the circus?" He settled in, grabbing the forearm crutches from her.

She got in on the driver side and revved the engine. "I don't know. You ready?"

Greg remembered her driving skills. She had taken it easy on him when they first met. Her little display of power made him nervous. "Remember, I'm still broken. Try not to do any more damage."

"Hang on to your kidneys."

Greg was never happier to be home. Cindy was hell on wheels, driving like a New York Cabbie on a mission. At one point he thought she was going to avoid slow traffic by driving on the sidewalk. She must have seen the fear in his eyes, because she just laughed and slowed down.

They double parked in front of 221 Baker Street, where they both swore upon seeing an un-shoveled walkway and steps. Somebody had been lazy in Greg's absence.

"Stay put," she commanded before hopping out and stomping through the semi-packed snow. Using broad leg sweeps, she cleared a path just wide enough for Greg to maneuver. In the more solidly packed spots she kicked at the icy mess.

House opened the door and leaned out. "There's a shovel in the front hall."

"Now you tell me." Cindy threw her arms up in frustration.

Once inside Greg eased down on the sofa propping his leg up on the coffee table. It was old hat for him, yet Cindy was amazed at his adaptability so quickly to the cast. House watched her watching him. Cindy stood in the middle of the room, unsure what to do next.

"Come here," Greg patted the cushion next to him. "And welcome to Casa de Casa."

"Hold that thought." Cindy suddenly remembered she was illegally parked. "Gotta go put the beast away."

After a few minutes passed, House began to feel abandoned. At first he thought she was having a hard time finding a parking space. But when five minutes turned to ten, he felt the first pangs of panic and disappointment. He crutched over to the window. There was plenty of space to park, but no sign of Cindy. Where'd she go?

He hung his head, dejected. He headed for the bathroom before hitting the bed for a nap. By the time he came out, she was sitting on the bed sipping something from one of his mugs.

"Where'd you go?"

She heard anger, betrayal and a hint of fear in his voice. "Sorry, I ran into my place to get this." She held up the mug. "I made you some, too."

"Did you get a good parking spot?" Something wasn't making sense.

"I've got assigned parking in my building."

"You live around here?" House sat on the bed next to her.

"Just around the corner."

He took her mug and sniffed it. "Spiced cider?"

"Yep." She grabbed the other mug off the nightstand.

"Needs a shot of Jack."

"So you say." She peered over the rim as she took a sip. "Don't expect me to help you contribute to the degeneration of your liver."

"Five minutes and you're already nagging."

"Hah! If you think that's nagging-"

"Never mind, I was just kidding." He handed her the mug. "Hold that for a sec."

The next thing she knew he was repositioning himself on the bed. Cindy set down the mugs to help him. It didn't take long for him to be comfortable.

"Are you intending on joining me?"

She climbed over him, settling on the other side of the bed.

"You can come closer. I'm not contagious." Greg raised his arm for her to cuddle up against him.

Reluctantly Cindy moved in as close as she dared. It wasn't as close as he wanted, but it would do. He couldn't get his arm around her, so he settled for holding her hand.

"Greg-"

"Shh, let's not ruin this just yet."


	35. Pain Share

Pain Share

House was the first to nod off. One minute he was caressing the back of Cindy's hand with his thumb, the next he was snoring softly, almost like a cat purring. Some hours later Cindy was awakened by a gentle nudge from Greg. She was curled up, her head on his abs. He tried to move her, but their positioning was awkward.

"I need you to move."

He didn't sound happy. "Sorry," she mumbled thinking he was discouraged by her invasion into his personal space.

"You move, then I can move." Pain made him irate.

"What's wrong?" She physically distanced herself from him.

"I'm starting to spasm." He wished he could get to his thigh and head it off.

"Here, scoot your butt down and lay back." Cindy pulled the pillows out from behind them and propped his leg up.

"It's not going to help," he said grimacing.

"Just shut up and do it." Cindy let him know that under no circumstances was she backing off.

He let her do her thing, not wanting to push her away like he had so many others. If it had been anyone else, he would have thrown them out and allowed himself to stew in his own suffering. She was a likeable and a seemingly less annoying version of Wilson.

"Okay. I think we've managed to reverse things a bit." Greg was laying in a modified spread eagle, his casted leg precariously perched on several pillows.

"Do you feel as vulnerable as you look," Cindy baited him.

"I didn't until you said something."

"Could be worse; you could be naked."

"Oy!" Greg put his hand over his face.

"What now?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. Come lay back down next to me."

"Nah, I'll pass. It's getting close to dinner time. I've got to get cooking or you'll waste away to nothingness."

"I thought we'd just order in."

"Oh, you did, did you?" She put her hands on her hips reminding him a little of Wilson.

"Yes, I did." He mimicked her actions as he lay there.

"Think you're funny?"

"I know I am. You, on the other hand-"

"You don't know me. I'm hilarious." She gave him a lecherous grin. "I also like to torture people. I find it fun." She loomed over Greg threateningly.

He felt a few seconds of panic before survival instinct kicked in. "Touch me, and I'll make you wish you hadn't."

Cindy leaned over him, hands out ready to tickle him mercilessly, but before she could start, Greg's hands snatched her wrists, pulling her down on top of him. They were face-to-face, their breath mingling. Greg looked into her eyes searching for a sign of the spark they had shared days earlier. He saw something different - almost like a reflection of himself.

"You're hurting me," she half pleaded, half laughed.

Greg exerted a little more pressure on her wrists forcing himself up onto her unsuspecting lips. He wanted her to want him like he needed her. But she was trying to pull away from his hands as she kissed him back. He let go, taking the full weight of her on his chest, embracing her with fervor.

Cindy was torn between kissing him back and backing away.

Greg eased up, sensing her waning interest. "I thought you wanted that."

She pushed off him gingerly. Within moments she was out of the room.

Greg was left to wonder if he had just made a huge mistake. He listened for the front door, which usually accompanied his pissing someone off. It didn't come. Instead he heard the banging of cupboard doors and drawers being forced open and closed. A pot was dropped on the stove burner, causing him to wince. Something metallic was slammed on the countertop followed by soft mutters.

He couldn't stand the thought of her trashing his kitchen, or - There was a crash that sounded like something broke. "Too late," he mumbled. He forced himself out of bed, woozy with the pain of blood circulating through his lower leg. "You okay in there?" He wasn't sure if the dizziness drowned out sound or Cindy had given up her assault.

She was in tears, picking up the chards of a ceramic soup bowl she knocked over accidentally. "It's nothing, I've got it."

It took Greg quite a while to go the short distance from the bedroom to the kitchen. Beads of sweat covered his brow. By the time he was close enough to see what was happening, he had to lean with his back up against the wall to keep from falling over.

"Don't get any a closer," Cindy warned.

Greg got the distinct feeling she was overwhelmed by more than just his kiss.

"I broke a bowl, and I'm not sure I got it all. Don't want you to step on anything and cut your foot."

"There's a broom in the closet over there."

"You shouldn't be on your feet."

"Foot."

"That either. You're supposed to have your leg elevated."

"I thought the whole point of this was to get me up and around."

"Your boss is an idiot," Cindy snorted.

"Sometimes."

"Someone ought to break her leg and tell her to get her ass back to work."

"That's an amusing thought." Greg pushed himself off the wall preparing for the arduous task of hauling himself to the living room.

Cindy decided to forego making dinner right then in favor of cleaning up the floor. She wrested the broom and dust pan out of the closet before awkwardly sweeping the area.

Greg watched her with concern. She was clumsily moving the broom around, switching hands every few swipes. How anyone so adept in orthopedics could be lost around household objects was befuddling. Her hand shook as she emptied the debris into the waste can.

After washing her hands, Cindy returned to dinner. All she wanted to do was open the can of stew and heat it up. The manual can opener was not complying. She tried it right handed. Then with her left hand, but the damn butterfly key didn't want to cooperate.

It was clear to Greg that she was easily frustrated. After watching her at the hospital and now at home, he realized she was ambidextrous, yet conflicted as to which hand to use when it came to the mundane things in life.

His thoughts were disrupted by the can being thrown forcefully into the trash.

Cindy growled loudly in frustration before heading to the front door.

"Problems?"

"I need some air." She grabbed her coat and walked out, letting the door slam behind her.

"Okay," Greg shrugged. He had never seen anyone get so annoyed with a can opener. Well, not in a long time, anyway.

He was going to order food but decided to wait. He knew nothing about her food likes and dislikes. The last thing he wanted to do was push her over the edge she seemed to be closing in on.

Minutes later she was back inside, rubbing her hands. "It's cold out. I hate the cold."

Something had changed. She wasn't the same person he had known at the hospital. "Come in and get warm. We can start a fire, if you want," Greg offered.

Cindy approached him slowly. "I'm sorry. Sometimes I can't do the simplest things. It's so frustrating."

"Come," he held out his arms waiting for her to let him embrace her. "I promise I won't bite."

"Just don't grab me by the wrists anymore," she closed in hesitantly.

"I can't hold your hands?"

"Not so forcefully." She sat across from him on the coffee table.

"Give me them," he held out his own hands to her. She placed them in his. He held them keeping his eyes on her. His thumbs caressed her palms, lingering just long enough to discern something unusual. Greg cocked his head to the side, silently questioning her. He followed the faint scars to her wrists, sweeping his thumbs side to side. He barely touched the tiny nodule adjacent to the head of the right radius.

"Stop!" Cindy pulled her hands away.

"Obviously that lump's a problem. Have you had it checked out?"

"It's nothing," she said as she absently massaged gently around the area.

"Let me see," he grabbed her much higher up on the forearm.

"You've already had it removed once." He inspected the small wad of scar tissue just south of the tiny nodule. "And bilateral carpal tunnel release. Both old scars. Different doctors?"

"Sort of. The doc let one of his Fellows do the surgery. At least the right hand release. When they went to dig out the cyst, it wasn't what they thought."

"Pre-MRI and CT?"

"Yep. 'Just a ganglion cyst. A quick excision and you'll be fine'."

"But you weren't fine." Greg continued to hold her hand, examining the scar ask she squirmed.

"The last thing you want to hear your doctor say during surgery is 'Uh oh'."


	36. The Frame Game

The Frame Game

Cindy spent the better part of her shift worrying about Greg. The traveling physical therapist couldn't get the equipment until Monday morning. Set up wouldn't happen until later that day or possibly Tuesday. The thought of Greg having to suffer for another few days was eating away at her.

On her lunch hour she called her boss and let him know the situation. Radcliffe wasn't too happy either. They brainstormed a bit. Perhaps a little help from Princeton-Plainsboro was in order.

Cindy hung up and called Greg's phone. It was picked up almost immediately. "Hey, Wilson, this is Cindy. How's it going?"

Wilson spoke softly. "He's finally sleeping. He's been miserable all morning."

"I'm working on getting the traction frame from other sources. If we get it tonight, will you help me set it up?"

"Of course. I'll do anything to get him out of pain."

"I'll let you know if we succeed."

Wilson hung up, then checked on House. He didn't look very comfortable, but at least he was resting. The first hour of pain had been difficult for both of them. No matter what Wilson tried, House couldn't get his leg in a position that didn't make him squirm. All the adjusting and re-adjusting threw Greg over the edge. He screamed and yelled, berating everyone and anyone, especially Wilson. For a few moments James contemplated looking for a hidden stash of Vicodin. Instead he found a heating pad and a bottle of Ibuprofen. 'Any port in a storm,' he thought.

"Take these House, they'll help you relax," Wilson lied. The placebo affect had worked before on his friend. If it worked now, there'd be no harm in it.

Not knowing where to place the heating pad was the hardest part.

Greg guided his friend's hand to the area just above his right buttock. "And watch what you're grabbing," he said gruffly.

The strange combination seemed to be working. Wilson had stayed at his

side until he was asleep.

Cindy stepped in to the inventory supply room. The ward was low on traction frames this time of year. Winter tended to wreak a lot of havoc on limbs and backs. She gleaned through the supplies, pulling out two small sand bag weights, the three lambskin slings she would need, and extra rope for the pulleys. She spied the perfect gadget; the egg crate foam wedge that would support his back and help keep his hip at a neutral angle.

At the desk she filled out the requisition form for Dr. Radcliffe to sign off on. Now all she was waiting to hear was if Princeton-Plainsboro would give up the frame.

Lisa Cuddy had received a call from House's orthopedic surgeon unexpectedly. At first she was confused by what he was asking, but further clarification made it easier for her to get things done. Sunday afternoon at the hospital was hit or miss. Orthopedics could be busy or dead. Cuddy was hoping it was slow.

The nursing staff on the ward picked up the phone almost immediately.

"This is Dr. Cuddy. Who's on call?"

"That would be Dr. Mackey. I'll get him."

Lisa waited only seconds before the doctor picked up. They spoke a few minutes. She waited while supply was checked and then requested the tech on call to have the framework ready for pick up by six.

Greg woke up from his nap feeling nauseated. He was having palpitations and sweating. 'An anxiety attack,' he told himself. 'Calm down.'

He tried to regulate his breathing but couldn't stay on task as muscles twitched and threatened to claw him apart from the inside out. He didn't have the wherewithal to call Wilson to do something. After all, what could he do?

Almost as if by psychic power, Wilson appeared at the door. "House, you okay?"

"No!" He half screamed, half cried.

"Why didn't they -"

"I need more pills!"

He sounded exactly the same as he did when he wanted Vicodin. Wilson wasn't sure if he was delusional at this point or not.

"Check the kitchen," Greg growled between clenched jaws.

Wilson was torn between examining him out or heading for the kitchen.

"Call her. Find out what she did with them."

It was a demand. An order not to be ignored. Wilson pulled out his cell phone.


	37. Pissing Contests

Pissing Contests

Cindy fumbled at the door until Wilson opened it, taking the more bulkier items out of her hands. "Thanks. From the lack of the sound of things I take it you found the meds." She pulled the duffle bag of piping through the door."

"He's finally resting comfortably. All this stuff's going to take the place of pain killers?" James couldn't fathom it.

"Some of the pain is from the fractures. A good portion from the infarction damage. Although I'm sure you're already aware of that."

Wilson nodded, afraid that if he opened his mouth he'd admit he was ready to fill a script for Vicodin.

Cindy removed her winter garment and headed straight for the bedroom. She was relieved to find Greg looking rather relaxed. His gaze was curiously disconnected. "How ya doing?"

He laughed. "Loopy."

She spied the prescription vial on the bedside table. "Uh huh. Wilson gave you one, then you helped yourself to another."

"Yeah," he smiled broadly, enwrapped by the movements his hands were making.

"Lovely, you're stoned. Wilson, I want you to see something!"

He rushed to her side, afraid by the tone of her voice. "What's wrong?"

She picked up the bottle. "There's a reason this doesn't stay within reach."

"Hi Jimmy," House giggled, drooling a bit.

"Once an addict, always an addict."

"I didn't-"

"No, you didn't think. Anything that relieves pain - alcohol, muscle relaxants, aspirin - becomes candy. That's why I didn't leave it in plain sight."

"What do we do, have him stomach pumped?"

"Nah, he'll be fine. Watch his vitals for the next few hours. He might pee the bed. Other than that, he should be okay - as long as he doesn't do that again." She wasn't sure if she should be mad at the guy. On the other hand, he was a doctor and should have known better; but then he wasn't much of a strong handed authority figure, able to take control of the situation. At least not when it came to Greg House.

"Now would be a good time to get the frame together. He'll still be relaxed when we put him in it. When it wears off, he won't feel crappy."

It took a while to erect the aluminum poles into something resembling the skeleton for a canopy bed. Building IKEA furniture would have been easier. As it was, Cindy held piping while Wilson used the wrenches and hex drivers.

"That was a pain in the ass. How often do you put these things together?" Wilson stared at his handiwork.

"As little as possible. I try to pawn it off on unsuspecting lower grade techs."

"I can understand why. What should we do next?"

"Potty break."

"Oh, okay. I assume you know where the bathroom is."

"Not me, him." Cindy pointed to House.

"How do you propose we do it?"

"Not we, you."

"Great." Wilson nudged House awake. "Let's go."

Greg was a little more coherent than before. "Huh?"

"Bathroom break. Then a trip back to la la land." Wilson wasn't sure how to get Greg to his feet. "How do you want to do this?"

"I was thinking you could start by getting my legs over the side of the bed."

While the two of them struggled, Cindy readied the bed. She put a spare sheet over the foam wedge and positioned it on the bed once the boys were out of the way. Then she measured two lengths of rope that would serve as the main pulley lines. The rest she'd have to work with Greg in the bed. But first, she and Wilson had to move the bed away from the wall to make room for one the sand bags to hang.

"You might as well take his pants off while you have him up," she called out. "Leave his jockeys on."

"Are you almost ready for us?"

"We just need to pull the bed forward a bit."

Wilson eased House into the bedside chair. Together he and Cindy moved the bed, then got Greg situated.

It was late before anybody thought about eating. Wilson took charge and ordered a pizza. By the time it arrived House was dead to the world. Cindy wanted nothing more than to get home and drop into her own bed.

"He can be a handful," Wilson said sheepishly; an attempt at apologizing for taking up her time.

"You'd be too, if you were in his position. It's not easy being a slave to pain." Cindy grabbed a slice out of the box and took a seat.

Wilson now understood why House was smitten with her. She had some of the same philosophies.

"I can stop in and check on him before I go off to work in the morning." She waited for the so-called friend to offer his assistance.

"I'll see if one of his Fellows can drop by around lunchtime."

"Fair enough. If you could, have that person call me with any questions or concerns."

"I'll have them call his doctor," James interjected.

Cindy sat back, choosing to ignore the territorial pissing contest Dr. Wilson tried to initiate.

Greg was still sleeping when Wilson left. He checked in on his friend before heading out. No sense in disturbing the slumbering bear. As he gathered his things, Cindy was in the kitchen. He wondered how much longer she intended on staying.

"I'm just going to leave him a few slices on his bedside table in case he wakes up hungry," she explained as she fought with the plastic wrap.

"Good idea."

"And something to drink. Although I'm not sure what's appropriate."

"Knowing House, he'd want a bear."

"I saw some Coke in the fridge. Probably a better choice."

"Yeah," Wilson conceded. He headed for the door but stopped before exiting. "You'll call if there are any problems?"

"Only if he wants me to," she said lightly.

James nodded and left without so much as a good-bye.

"Asshole," Cindy muttered in frustration. Why was everything with James Wilson a challenge of wits? No wonder Greg didn't want him around much.

She brought dinner into the bedroom and placed it on the nightstand along with a little note. It was hard to leave him alone, yet she had to get some sleep before she fell down out of sheer exhaustion.

It was shortly after one in the morning when Greg woke up to a series of muscle movements. His lower leg began protesting against immobility sending his spinal cord the signals to move it in a direction it couldn't go. His right gluteus minimum beat a tattoo against his skin. And his stomach growled. Bleary-eyed, he stared up at the ceiling, trying to focus on the scaffolding overhead. Waking up never came easy to Greg.

His stomach grumbled again. He looked over to the clock to check the time. He reached out for the note propped up against it.

"She's an angel." He smiled, maneuvering the plate to his stomach. With one mouthful of Italian-American bliss, his senses helped to wake up the rest of his body. That's when the mattress registered movement.

Cindy shifted position without waking. Greg watched her for a few moments. He grabbed the note and read it again. She specifically stated that she was going home to bed and he should call her if he needed anything. He ate a slice thinking she had simply changed her mind.

Greg couldn't resist peaking under the covers to see what she was wearing. He was surprised to find her in pajamas. She wasn't planning on sleeping over, so why would she bring her jammies?

He grabbed the can of Coke and popped the top. It felt good to chug half of it at once. The belch that followed was long and deep. Cindy stirred again. House looked over to her. She was staring at him.

"Excuse me."

"You okay?" She nestled herself deeper in the blanket.

"Thanks for dinner."

"I couldn't sleep at my place."

"So you decided to hop into bed with me?"

"I was worried about you." She rolled over, giving him her back.

"I'm good . . .now that you're here with me."

He watched her breathing evenly, asleep in his bed as if it was the most natural thing for both of them. He wished he could spoon her. His body ached for her touch. Greg would have to settle for waking up with her in his bed.


	38. The Short Straw

The Short Straw

The next seven hours were spent in restful bliss. All systems rejuvenated for the first time in years, making waking up a good feeling. Greg's muscles weren't tight, his thoughts were clear and his heart was light. Everything was good. At least he thought it was until he looked over to where Cindy was expected to be sleeping.

She was gone. That area of the bed was perfectly made. He had a clear view into the bathroom. Cindy wasn't there either. A check of the alarm clock revealed another love note.

'Greg. Woke up in your bed. Not sure how that happened. Oops. Hope you aren't upset with me. Call you at noon. Be well, and stay put (ha ha). Cindy.'

Noon was too far away. He yearned to hear her voice. Dare he call her? The fact that he was alone and confined to the bed did nothing for his nerves. There were things he eventually would need to do. He surveyed the pulley system. Would he be able to release himself without causing agony?

The phone rang, startling him. He snagged it off the nightstand. "House."

"Doing okay?" Cindy was checking in.

"Hanging in there," Greg smiled. "All puns intended."

"Good. I missed talking with you this morning."

"You should have woke me."

"You looked peaceful. I didn't want to disturb you."

"When am I going to see you again?"

"Tonight?"

"Is there anyway I can get out of bed?"

"It would be better if you didn't Wilson said he'd get on of your Fellows over at lunchtime to check in on you."

"Wonderful," he moaned.

"Give them a chance. Could they really be worse than putting up with James?"

"None of them will come willingly."

"What about Thirteen?"

"It's a possibility." Greg wasn't sure he wanted to impose on her further.

"I know you're not happy about it, but we're both kind of stuck between a rock and hard place."

"We?"

"I want to be there with you, but my job is only so flexible," Cindy confessed. "I hate that you're alone these first few days."

"I'll survive," Greg said with renewed emotional energy. She cared, really cared about him.

"We'll talk more later. Call me if you want, but right now I gotta go."

"See you later."

He was still smiling an hour later. Granted, he was asleep. But a smile was a smile.

Foreman drew the proverbial short straw. Since there was no patient currently dying of some unknown cause, Cuddy bribed Eric by giving him the rest of the day off. Foreman wasn't upset with the decision, he just thought he should vie for some leverage. The rest of the day off was an unexpected bonus. He'd have been happy not to have to work the clinic. This way he didn't have to return and be questioned by the CIA and FBI.

House's spare key was in its usual hiding place over the door on the lintel. Eric let himself in, surveying the living room for any sign of his boss. "Hello, House?"

"In the bedroom," he called out.

Foreman stood in the doorway, a bit unsuspecting. "Whoa. I didn't know it was this serious."

"If this is serious, I feel sorry for the poor sap who contracts Lupus."

"It's never Lupus."

"And this isn't serious."

"So how long are you going to be laid up?" Eric stepped into the room to get a better look at the set up.

"As long as it takes for you to unhook me," Greg raised his eyebrows hopefully.

"I'm guessing they want you to stay off your feet."

"Only when I don't need a potty break." He batted his eyes at Foreman.

"Too much information." Eric familiarized himself with the set up. "I think I've got it." He unhooked the pulley system, supporting his boss's leg until it rested on the bed.

"Thank god. Help me get off the bed."

They worked as a team, Eric supported House as he got to his feet shakily. "You got it?" He was unsure his boss was stable enough to go the few feet to the bathroom.

"Evidently when the blood flows back into my leg after elevating it for extended periods of time, it's like reprofusing the tissue after a crush injury. Add the weight of the cast and gravity pulling at the fracture sites. . .it's just a party."

"Sounds like it." Foreman stayed close enough to House to catch him if he needed it.

Greg reached the toilet, giving him a malicious glare. "You going to hold it for me too?"

Eric snorted, backing off. "This is all yours."

"Tell me what's been going on in my absence," House called through the door.

"Lots of clinic duty. We haven't had any tough cases."

"So there's no rush for me to get back to work." The water was running now, so he shouted this time.

Foreman waited for his boss to re-enter the bedroom before answering. "It doesn't seem like you're ready, so why rush it?"

"Yeah, just what I thought."

Team work got Greg hooked back up relatively quickly. There seemed to be nothing to talk about after that.

"Even if we got a case, would could teleconference for the differential. We don't need your body, just your brain."

"Cuddy seems to think I need to be up and around. And to an extent, I do. Just not at the level she thinks I should be at."

"Obviously. You're not a young man anymore. This isn't a strained muscle. Even if it was, you'd need some time to recover."

"Evidently it's more like a herniated disc."

"How do you figure?"

"Got an MRI to prove it. After the bone heals there's more testing to be done."

"Sounds like fun. I'll be happy to take a look at the results."

"I sure you would. Maybe someday."

"You need anything before I go?"

"In a hurry to get back to clinic duty?"

"I got the rest of the day off."

"How'd you rate that?"

"Had to walk my boss to the bathroom." Eric smiled triumphantly.

"It figures," House smirked.

"Nah, I was glad to do it. After all the secrecy it's nice to know that you're hangin' in there."

"That euphemism's gonna get old real fast," Greg growled.

"That's why I'm going to use it to annoy you every chance I get." Foreman continued to taunt his boss with his Cheshire Cat grin.

"Get out of here. And don't forget to leave the key where you found it."


	39. Introspection

Introspection

Greg lay in bed looking up at he ceiling and replaying Foreman's words. He was old. Much seemingly older since he hit fifty. And his body wasn't responding as quickly as it use to, let alone healing the smallest of injuries.

On the bright side, at least he still had a sex drive. Without that, life would not be worth living.

His thoughts turned toward Cindy. She had said something about cast fetishism that at the time he thought was weird and sick. Yet every time she was around, he was aroused more than normal. The cast didn't make him horny, but being unable to escape any sexual advance increased it. Greg wondered if it heightened the pleasure as well.

She called it something. What was it? Oh yea, medical bondage. "That's just freaky," he mumbled aloud.

Cindy couldn't concentrate at work. She was worried about Greg being alone too long. His friend hadn't made sure he had ample help. She believed he wasn't ready to be on his own at this point of his recovery. The more distracted she became thinking about it, the more obvious it became necessary to remedy the situation.

Her work was suffering, but only slightly. Instead of being the cheery practitioner, she was going through her routine as if on autopilot. At three she went in search of her boss. The time had come to ask for some personal time off - provided she could get some of the other staff to fill in.

Greg spent the afternoon dozing on and off. He was bored. And with nothing more to do than watch his leg hang, the boredom intensified exponentially. He should have asked Foreman to hook him up with a laptop and some medical journals. Hell, National Geographic would be better. Sudoku or even Where's Waldo? would suffice. Even though he was week and his leg ached when he stood, laying in bet waiting to recover wasn't going to cut it.

Sure he could do it for a few more days, but the prospect of a week or more only firmed up his resolve to push through the pain. Damn his body for betraying him!

Greg's anxiety was growing. There was a way to move beyond all of it. An intramedullary rod through the fibula and a few screws would have him fixed right as rain. Of course, he'd never be able to step foot in the MRI suite again. Good for him - no interactions with the patients during MRIs. Bad for him if he needed an MRI in the future. What were the chances of needing one?

"Hell," he sighed with defeat. MRIs seemed to occur three times a year. With the change in seasons, the leg pain would worsen and Wilson would insist on a scan to look for another clot or a miracle. It was never either, but it did put Greg's mind at ease.

His cell phone rang and he was at a loss to remember its location. It's not like it could go anywhere. It had to be in reach. Unless he flicked it onto the floor when he got back into bed. By the time he finally located it, the call had gone to voicemail.

"Hmm." The screen read unknown. It could be from anybody. Normally he did not respond to these types of calls or listen to the messages. Switching carriers, telemarketers and corporate conglomerates withholding their identities didn't warrant his interest.

But today he was bored. He'd be willing to talk to Ding Whu in Kuala Lumpur if it meant harassing someone and enjoying himself. Greg hit the voicemail code and heard a voice he wasn't expecting:

'Greg, it's Cindy. Taking some time off work for the next few days. Wanted to know if you wanted some company. Since you didn't answer, you're probably sleeping, so I'll call back later.'

Damn! His mind was going to places it shouldn't. 'Little Greg' was stirring as he thought of the various ways a woman might pleasure a man in his condition.

"Why am I doing this to myself?"

'Little Greg' didn't care. It had a mind of its own; a capacity to assert dominance over its master-servant. Greg realized he was fondling himself as images of Cindy crawling over his body, teasing his erogenous zones, circled his thoughts.

They had connected in some primal way without actually knowing it. And he found himself thinking about her constantly. The only way he could justify her wanting to be with him was because he was injured and needy. Perhaps she was a bit like Cameron; except for the self-righteous attitude.

The thought of Cindy and Cameron being alike was enough to put 'Little Greg' to rest. For all of Cameron's advances and interest; House couldn't bring himself to get serious with her. The main reason was her skin wasn't thick enough. No way would she last through his moodiness without trying to force him to change. Her real allure to him was the fact that she couldn't have him. Cameron always worked too hard to get what she wanted.

Cindy was still a conundrum. All he knew about her was that she worked a lot; much like himself. She was married to the love of the job she did; much like himself. And that she cared about him.

Wilson used his spare key to access House's apartment. It was all quiet. Proceeding to the kitchen, he dropped his briefcase on the chair, then set the take out containers on the kitchen counter.

"Wilson, is that you?" House called out from the bedroom.

"How'd you know?" He shrugged off his overcoat while heading down the hall toward his friend.

"One, you had a key. Two, you brought take out, and three," Greg waited for Wilson to reach the door before fanning away his pretend tears of emotion, "your overwhelming air of caring is stinging my eyes."

"I'm glad you've found your sense of humor."

"You mistake my annoyance for humor."

"I'll let you off the hook."

"Make it quick, I have to pee."

"Oh, sure," Wilson hadn't meant it literally. He tossed his coat on the chair and began the arduous process of unhooking the weights from the pulleys.

"Have I missed anything fun today?" House's boredom made him desperate for any conversation; even if it meant he had to forgo his anti-Wilson campaign.

"The clinic was pretty busy today. Taub got saddled with the kit with six toes and the seeping wart."

Greg was on his foot waiting for the blood to circulate through is bad leg before moving further. "Did he suggest amputation?"

"Uh huh."

"And she gave him the 'polydactyl is a dominant trait and therefore superior' speech?"

Wilson was smirking. "You should have never told her that."

"Well, most of it's true."

"The Vibram shoe company still sending you hate mail?"

"I was just joking when I wrote that paper on the evolution of feet. Who knew it would have such an impact on individual toed shoes?"

"Yeah, who knew?"

"Got it from here," House said while slamming the bathroom door in Wilson's face.

"Give a shout when you need me. I'm going into the kitchen."

Cindy stood outside of the 'B' apartment at 221 Baker Street. They key was on the lintel over the door, and yet, somehow in her sleep, she had managed to reach it. Wide awake there was no way. Knocking would be futile. Greg couldn't answer. Out of curiosity she tired the knob.

She nearly fell through, not expecting it to open. "Hello? Greg?" She peered around the door cautiously. Hopefully no one was robbing the place.

"Come on in," Wilson invited. He was in a good mood because of his friend's reacceptance of him. Seeing the other person who cared about House come to visit seemed like an all around good omen.

"I didn't expect anyone to be here."

"I didn't expect to get out of work as early as I did."

"I just wanted to make sure he got a break." She looked at her watch. It's been about-"

"He's in the litter box as we speak."

Cindy scribbled down her number on a scrap of paper she found in her purse. "Give him this," she proffered it to James, "and have him call me later."

Greg's frame appeared at the end of the hall. "Quit talking about me like I'm an invalid."

"You are," they said in unison.

House was moving at a snail's pace. Cindy thought she should at least greet him properly before heading out.

"Hey," he nodded in her direction.

"Hay is for horses." What the? Why did her mother's stupid retort have to rear its ugly head now?

House cocked his head to the side while smirking. "That's new."

"What's new?"

"Your sense of humor."

"Oh, it's not mine. I borrowed it from my mother."

"Stay, make yourself at home." Greg headed for the sofa.

"Can't," she said, glaring at his friend. "Just stopped in to check on you. Call me later." Cindy didn't want to go, but it meant she'd have to put up with a guy she didn't want in her life. She only needed one book end, not a pair.

Wilson handed House a carton of Chinese food. "She doesn't like me much."

Greg looked up at him with astonishment. "You two have words?"

"A few." James sat across from his friend and began eating. "I'm picking up on your amazing powers of deduction."

"Do tell, Watson, is she a black widow? Have you gotten in the way of her diabolical plan to marry me for my great wealth and then off me for all these wonderful possessions?

"You really must be feeling better. Your sarcastic wit is heading for caustic."

"I'm bored. I need my laptop."

"A laptop."

"Everything that was in by back pack needs to be replaced."

"That reminds me." Wilson tossed his take out carton on the coffee table, leaned over to the chair and retrieved his briefcase. "Got your reading glasses, the NEJM, NAMA, and the American Journal of Epidemiology. And," he pulled out another magazine, "the latest Hustler."

House smiled lecherously.

"I knew you were dying for your porn."

"I read it for the articles.'

"Yeah, right."

Cindy spent her pent up energy on picking up her apartment. There wasn't much to do, as she was hardly ever home. Ready for bed, she sat in front of the television, channel surfing until settling on an old episode of Trapper John, MD. 'God I must be desperate,' she thought. Then, fortunately, the phone rang.

"Hey." She knew from the caller ID it was Greg.

"Hay is for horses."

"Ouch."

"Yea, it is pretty bad."

There was a bit of awkward silence that followed.

"You never called me back this afternoon. I was waiting impatiently."

"Sorry, I got caught up at work. You know how it is."

"What's going on? Why are you taking time off?"

"I just need some time to myself…I mean time away from the hospital to enjoy myself." She wrapped her robe around herself in a comforting gesture.

"Oh, 'cause I thought you wanted to be my personal slave until I'm back on my feet, so to speak."

"Is that code for: you need me to come over and unhook you so you can potty?"

"If I said no, would you still come over?"


	40. Slumber Party

Slumber Party

Cindy carried a long umbrella with her to Greg's apartment. It was the only way she was going to reach the key. Once inside, she hung up her coat and changed from her boots to her house slippers. She hoped he wouldn't mind the fact that she was in her pjs and fuzzy robe. Her mood dictated her attire.

Greg burst out laughing as she stood in his doorway. "I think you forgot the curlers in your hair."

"Not funny."

Her reply was solemn, and it was at that point he realized there was something wrong.

"You want to get up and move around a bit?" Cindy didn't wait for an answer before untangling him from the contraption.

"Something go wrong for you today?"

"No." She managed to keep from looking at him directly."

"Nah, something's wrong…maybe not wrong, but somehow different," Greg said as he took his leg by the thigh and eased it to the bed.

"Drop it. It's none of your business."

"Ooh, harsh tones. You're making your problem my business."

"How so?"

"By bringing your crappy mood into my house. It's not like I can walk away."

"You want me to leave?" Cindy's expression was one of hurt and disappointment.

"Look, I've been thinking about you all day. I like you. You're interesting. But I can't handle the mood swings without some kind of reasoning behind it. If you're bipolar, I'll figure out a way to deal with it. If you're a psycho, I'd rather know that too, so I can gauge my craziness against yours." Greg was trying to add a little levity to the situation.

"I'm not bipolar. But I am messed up mentally."

"Honey, everybody's messed up mentally."

"Yeah, but it's getting out of control. And that scares me."

The sadness in her eyes hit home for House. "It should scare you. The fact that you're doing something about it means you're less out of control than you think."

"I haven't done anything about it." She helped him to stand.

"You told someone. That's always the first step." Greg waited for the world to stop spinning before he took his first steps.

"The people I work with don't know. I don't want them to know." She was embarrassed now, clearly not wanting to look him in the eyes.

"If they know, maybe they can help." Did he really believe that? He had been through it and didn't want his colleagues to have to deal with it. And yet it slid easily from his lips as if it was his credo.

"If they know, they may end up treating me like a Leper."

Greg stopped at the bathroom door. "Yeah, but at least you'll be treated." He closed it behind him, leaving her there to think. He could hear her walking away. Maybe he shouldn't have left her alone. What if she decided to off herself in his kitchen?

"You're not going to do anything silly out there while I'm in here? Are you?"

"If you're thinking I might try break dancing in your living room, then, no."

Good. She didn't have a clue as to what he was thinking. If she suspected him of worrying about her mental state, who knows how she'd react. Granted, he didn't know her well enough, but he knew how he'd handle it. It wouldn't be pretty. "Thank goodness. I thought I was missing something spectacularly awful," he called out through the door.

"Did you say awful or awesome," she shouted back.

"Depends. Which one would you prefer?" A clever comeback. It was hard to gauge her without seeing her body language. What was he getting himself into?

"Neither. It's called break dancing for a reason. Usually because someone breaks something." Cindy found the remote to the television and turned it on. She channel surfed until Greg sounded like he was leaving the bathroom.

"Hey," he called from half way down the hall. "Little help here." He actually didn't need her at all. He wanted her to feel useful.

"The more you get up and move around, the easier it will be. I'm going to have to talk to Radcliffe about putting you in traction overnight only."

"I thought you were on vacation." Greg let her lead him to the sofa.

"I'm always working, even when I'm not. That's my problem." She sighed heavily, seating herself in a chair to his left.

"It would be more comfortable on the couch with me." Greg wanted to put his arm around her and cuddle. He needed some physical contact.

"Not feeling up to it, sorry."

"Okay, no worries. Just one more request: can you get me a blanket, it's a little chilly in here." Greg threw out a fake shudder.

"Sure."

He watched her go, taking a longer than necessary look at her back end. She was sexy in her big, furry bath robe.

"Stop looking at my butt," she called out.

Greg chuckled. She was a pistol.

Cindy tossed the blanket at him on her way back to her seat.

"Sure you don't want to cuddle under the covers with me?"

"Look, Greg. I like you. But we hardly know each other."

"It's a good way to get to know each other."

"It's a good way to piss me off." She was glaring.

"Sorry!"

"No you're not, you're a typical male."

"Sure, blame my gender," Greg harrumphed.

"I'm bored," Cindy announced unexpectedly.

"You going to blame that on my gender, too?" He was purposely baiting her.

"No. Your gender could keep me from being bored."

"So you're sexually frustrated?"

"Why do you twist everything I say?"

"Why do you avoid answering my questions by asking another question?"

"You're annoying."

"You're sexy. So get over here and cuddle under the blanket with me. That way we'll both stave off boredom."

Cindy made a production out of getting up and moving over to the couch. Greg held up the corner of the blanket enticingly.

"No funny stuff," she warned.

"Cross my heart." Greg made an 'X' over his chest.

It didn't take long for him to make his move. She no sooner had she sat down then he cozied up to her. It didn't get too creepy until he started petting her fleecy robe at the sleeve.

"I'm not a cat," she growled.

"No, not a kitty cat. Perhaps a tigress." He moved his hand from arm to her thigh.

She smiled. He was incorrigible.

Greg got braver. He moved his hand around her thigh slowly, desensitizing her. When he felt it was safe, he let his hand creep closer to her inner leg, making its way between the folds of the robe.

She straightened up, slapping his hand in the process. The smile on her face didn't disappear.

He put his hand back in the safe zone. Cindy leaned into him resting her head on his shoulder.

A chick flick came on. Greg moaned. He hated girlie movies. Cindy stirred awake with his protestations.

"You okay?"

"Mm hmm. Just a bit nauseated."

"Why?"

"Xanadu's on."

"Egads!"

"Yeah," he concurred, stifling a yawn.

"I should get you to bed."

That got Greg's attention. His face lit in eager anticipation.

"Take it easy, playboy. I didn't mean it the way it sounded."

"Too bad. I was ready to say: the feeling's mutual."

Cindy helped him to his feet, then put the blanket away while he crutched to the bedroom. By the time she turned off the TV and got to his room, he was waiting for her.

"You planning on staying?" He was hopeful.

"Nope." She went back to being all business.

"But it's cold and icy out. You could fall and break something and die of hypothermia."

"Gee, thanks for that vote of confidence."

"I really want you to stay." He was serious. "In my bed, on my couch. It doesn't matter. Just don't leave."

Cindy thought about it. His plea to stay and not leave him was a sign of his vulnerability and loneliness. "Okay, I'll take the couch."

A small victory for both of them, even though each had a misinterpretation of the reason.

Once Greg's leg was hanging back in traction he grabbed Cindy's hand, holding it in earnest. "Thank you for staying." He forced a shiver that proved to be more painful than he could possibly expect. "Mm," the moan escaped his lips.

"A spasm?"

He shook his head negatively, "Just got a chill and my leg hurt when I shivered."

Cindy disappeared into the living room, returning with the blanket they had used on the couch.

Greg relished the pleasure of her tucking him in. When she finished he was frowning.

"Why the puppy dog eyes?"

"What are you going to use to stay warm?"

"I've got my robe. And I'll turn up the heat. Where's the thermostat?"

"We could share body heat," He shuddered again for added effect.

"You just don't know when to give up, do you?"

"I'm consistent."

"More like persistent." She shimmied into the bed next to him, still clad in her robe. "No funny stuff."

"Yeah, like that deterred me last time," he teased.

"Be good," she admonished.

"Turn off the lights…please."

Cindy twisted the switch on the bedside lamp. They lay in darkness for a few moments, each thinking about the comfort of having the other in physical proximity. Greg was particularly aroused with Cindy so close. He was unable to hide his restlessness.

"What's wrong," Cindy mumbled as sleep was winning the battle over consciousness.

"Got a spasm," he said with a hitch in his voice.

"Let me help."

"Will you massage it for me?"

"Where is it."

"Give me your hand, I'll put it over the spot." Thank god the light was off and she couldn't see his face. With her hand in his, he led her to his groin.

Cindy screamed in disgust. "You're such a pig!"

"If I'm such a pig, why are you still massaging me?"

"Ugh!" She squeezed his shaft as hard as she could.

"Ow! What the hell did you do that for?" His hands tried to pry her off.

"I'm trying to break the spasm like you asked," she said innocently as she exerted another crushing grip.

Although he was in considerable discomfort, Greg realized that she was playing him at his own game. "Oh, man that feels so good."

She eased up.

"I think I broke something."

"Contrary to popular belief, there is no bone in your boner."

"That still doesn't mean you didn't hurt me," Greg whined. "Will you kiss my boo boo?"

"You asked for a massage and I strangled it. Now you want me to kiss it? How can you be so sure I won't bite you?"

"Would you please?"

She smacked him. "I don't do oral sex."

"How 'bout good old fashioned sex?"

"No thanks."

"Man, you're tough to break."

"I'm a born again virgin."

Hysterical laughter peeled through the room. They were both overtired and giddy.

"Seriously. I've been thinking about you all day and I want to have some special time with you."

"Why is the special time with you all about you getting all the pleasure?" Cindy dropped the act, becoming overly serious.

"I was hoping we'd both get pleasure from it." Greg, too, was sober about it.

"Like I said before, we don't know each other."

"It takes time. What we're doing, this communicating is us getting to know each other."

Cindy turned away from him. She withdrew mentally and physically, curling up into the fetal position. "Here's a little tidbit you should know: I don't enjoy sex."

"Well, that answers my question."

"What question?"

"The one about you being a virgin."

"I have had sexual relationships before."

"Just not good ones."

"No. The sex wasn't good."

"Maybe you just haven't been with the right person."

"I suppose you think you can 'rock my world'," she laughed scornfully.

"I've been told-"

"Here's another tip: women don't like to hear about their man's past relationships."

Greg reflected on that statement smiling. "You realize you referred to me as 'your man'!"

"Yeah, I guess I did." She was happy he picked up on that.

"So can I have that blowjob now?"

She rolled over, quickly slamming her fist into his crotch.

He oophed.

"Did you enjoy your blow?"


	41. Introduction to Bondage

Introduction to Bondage

Greg woke up with Cindy cuddled up against him. Her arm was draped over his chest. Her left leg was slung over his left leg, her knee precariously resting against his morning wood. It was definitely a nice way to wake up. The only improvement to be made would be to have her naked against him.

Something caused Cindy to be startled from her sleep. She found herself sprawled across Greg.

"Good morning." He gave her a warm smile, letting her know he was glad she was there.

Cindy wiped the sleep from her eyes. "You ready to get up?"

"I'm good. You can go back to sleep if you want."

She rolled over onto her back. He reached over wanting to maintain contact with her. She held his hand, lacing his fingers between hers.

"This is nice," he mumbled.

"Mm hmmm." Indeed it was. As much as she was opposed to giving in to his sexual needs, contact wasn't as much of a dilemma.

"Can I ask you a super dumb question?"

"Does it have to do with sex?"

"Of course," he admitted.

"Are we ever going to have a conversation that doesn't revolve around fornicating?"

"Not until we've actually done the dirty deed."

"So what's the question?"

"Can we discuss medical bondage?"

"Are you kidding me?"

"Not really," Greg said softly, as if he had crossed some line he couldn't return from.

"I didn't think you were paying attention when I first mentioned it."

"I needed something to distract me from the pain."

"And you picked medical bondage? God, you're weird."

"I don't know, I'm not exactly sure what medical bondage is," he tried to sound thoughtful. "If you explain it to me, then we can make that decision."

Cindy moaned, embarrassed that she even had this 'special' knowledge. She dropped her face into the pillow and started giggling.

"I know you didn't just make that up. It sounds too unreal to be made up."

She pulled her face up to meet his. He could see she was blushing.

"Well, you know what medical stuff is."

"I do...at least I think I do."

"And you know what bondage is."

"Yep!" He said that almost too quickly, as if he were a master at it.

"Put the two together and you get: Medical Bondage."

"Are you trying to tell me you're a dominatrix?"

"Oh hell no!"

"Then what's the purpose of it?"

"It's fetishism. I didn't say I partook in it. Just because you know of something doesn't make you a participant." She watched his eyes brighten as the smile broadened on his face.

"I want to be a participant."

"You do know it's a sexual thing." She frowned.

"Oh, that's right, you don't like sex."

Cindy pulled the pillow out from under her head. "You are such an ass."

"Like you're telling me something new." Greg slammed her back with the pillow.

"Are you sure you want to do it?" She got serious for a few moments.

"Only if you're going to be my dominatrix."

"Stuff like this takes a lot of trust. You're going to let me subdue you in a way that totally forfeits your control over your body."

He didn't say anything. Mostly because he hadn't thought about that part. Hell, it was something he hadn't anticipated. Giving up control was not his thing.

"I want you to seriously think about it before we decide anything."

"Do I get to decide what you can do to me?" He stared up at the ceiling with his arm around her, her head resting once again in the crook of his shoulder.

"Depends whether I think it will be safe or not." She rubbed her hand across his chest, slowly massaging her way to his belly and below.

"If you're going to do that, you had better be ready to go all the way." Her hand shot back up to his chest. 'Damn, why did I say anything?'

"What's wrong?" As if she didn't know.

"Have to take a potty break."

"We should both get up for a while. I have to get home and get a shower, get dressed and then do some stuff before I come back around lunchtime."

"You mean you're not going to stay the whole time with me?" Greg tried to pout, but knew it wasn't coming off as needy.

"If you want me to be your dominatrix, you're going to have to give me some time to get into character," she said simply.


	42. Sexual Fantasy

**Note: This chapter may not be suitable for younger readers. If you are squeamish or prefer not to read this type of chapter, feel free to read the first two chapters and infer the rest! Happy reading**

Sexual Fantasy

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Cindy set down a duffle bag heavy with supplies she would need to fulfill Greg's wildest dreams. She shrugged off her coat and scarf, tossing them on a nearby chair.

Greg smiled, excited with anticipation and tinged with fear. He swallowed hard, wondering how she would proceed. He didn't have to wait long.

Cindy began her strip tease by slowly removing her clothing a piece at a time. Greg's eyes bulged as her pert breasts were exposed and her nipples rose to erection in the cool air. With great ceremony she removed her pants and underwear, allowing him to relish in their slow elimination. His body was responding in unusual ways. The cast on his leg withheld some of the flexion of the rising tension in his groin.

"You weren't kidding," he said breathily as she approached the side of the bed to release his leg from traction. The stretch of her arms, the tautness of muscles in her chest and core turned him on. She wasn't skinny, but she was firm and well defined. Her ass resembled two halves of the perfect melon.

"I haven't even started." Cindy removed all the pillows off the bed before positioning herself at Greg's feet. In her hands were two neck ties. She smiled coyly at him as she began crawling up his non casted leg, straddling it. She stayed low letting him experience her breasts, belly and finally her groin as she brushed her body against his skin.

He leaned his head forward as she reached his hips. With both of his legs relatively immobilized, his midsection tightened in an effort to raise his pelvis to meet her face as it hovered precariously close to his manhood. The muscles stretched harder, causing his erection to grow and heightening the sensations in his groin.

Cindy slithered diagonally across his chest, pulling his right arm up with her. She continued to straddle his torso, allowing herself to make contact in various places. Then she leaned across his arm, pinning it to the bed. A quick wrapping of his wrists with the tie and then a knot around the leg of the headboard secured the arm.

Greg pulled against his restraint smiling lecherously at its effectiveness. Cindy wriggled her way to her right and did the same thing to his left arm, all the while giving him just enough distance to taste her honey pot if he stretched his tongue to its limits.

The snake like writhing intensified as Cindy made her way down his torso, head first. She laid a line of licks and kisses as she approached Greg's hips. With three limbs immobile, the ability to shift muscles to escape the ticklish ecstasy was limited. His left leg contracted, dissipating some of the sexual energy he felt. His pelvic region and lower back spasmed.

Greg groaned as her warm tongue flicked its way from his belly button to his pubic region. The throbbing in his penis was intense. It only got worse as she licked him up one side of the show, only stopping briefly to kiss the tip before making her way down the other side, around the scrotum and onto his left thigh. His back arched uncontrollably.

Cindy giggled girlishly. She rode his leg down as if he were a grease pole, stopping her crotch directly over his knee. In his ecstasy he had not realized that she had secured him in a modified spread eagle while she seduced him. So far the fantasy was playing out nicely.

"I've got something for you." Cindy dismounted the bed and went to her bag of tricks where she pulled out an unlabeled decanter of amber liquid.

"What's that?"

"A little treat to help you relax." Her eyes glinted with mischief.

Greg watched in awe as she straddled his waist and proceeded to drizzle the liquid down her chest and breasts. She leaned over, inviting him to drink it off her skin.

He started licking her pecs, saving the best for last. Suckling each nipple he started to breathe heavily; the weight of his limbs fading as his eyelids struggled to stay open.

When he was able to make sense of the blurry world Cindy was standing at the end of the bed dressed in scrubs. "Are you ready?"

"I thought we already started?" He was startled by the inability to move his head. 'When did that happen?' Greg tried to focus his mind to feel his body. The first sensation he made sense of was the cool air all around him. "I'm naked."

"Uh huh."

More concentration and he could feel the pain in his right leg and the sensation of the cast. He thought-probed each of his extremities. The binds at his ankles and wrists were apparently just pressure from the fabric.

"A hard c-collar," she answered his unasked question. "I want you to remain completely still while I take care of a few bodily functions before we move on to the casting."

"What do you mean?" The research he had done suggested there could be hair removal amongst other things necessary for what he wanted done. "You you going to shave my privates?"

"Do you want me to?"

"Maybe." He wasn't sure what her plans were.

"First things first." Cindy produced a box, opening it and unraveling the Foley catheter kit. She injected lubricant down the rubber tubing in preparation if insertion.

Greg gasped as she held his penis in her hand and eased the tube into his urethra with her other. He grunted a few times until it reached his bladder. "How can we have sex with this thing in?"

"You haven't used the bathroom in a few hours. I wanted to drain your bladder until we got down to business."

She produced another box, emptied its contents, then disappeared into the bathroom. After a few minutes of listening to the water run, she returned to his view and hung the red enema bag off the traction frame. Greg's eyes widened with anxiety. Before he could protest, the nozzle entered his anus. His torso muscles tightened and the building of sexual energy returned as warm water streamed into his colon.

"I knew you'd like that." The twinkle in her eyes promised more fun.

"Hope you brought a bedpan."

"I've got all the things we'll need."

As the seemingly endless bag of fluids released into his colon, he could feel the intestine walls expand and move with peristalsis. Cindy came to his side to massage his abdomen. She started at the base of his pubis and worked the fluids upward. The pressure grew within him, the sensations he was experiencing caused various muscles to spasm.

Cindy stopped the inward flow. She switched out the nozzle for another device. Greg's sphincter clamped onto it.

"What was that?"

"Anal plug. Can't have you oozing out all over the bed." She walked away, returning with the bedpan.

"How you going to get that under me?"

Cindy bent her head down between his legs. She touched him and his back arched, raising his hips off the bed just enough to slide the pan under him and unplug his orifice.

His body expelled the fluids forcefully considering he was unable to move. Once the enema was complete, Cindy cleansed the area, then removed the catheter.

"There, now you're really ready."

Greg's eyes swam a bit in the sockets, unable to focus. Cindy was sitting on a stool at the edge of the bed. She rolled a sleeve up his left arm that was no longer restrained to the bed. He tested its mobility. Something laid heavily across his bicep making it too heavy to lift.

"Just relax. Enjoy the process." She patted his chest while smiling encouragingly.

Greg's eyes struggled to stay open. They felt like they were circling the sockets. That was until Cindy slapped a bit roughly across the cheeks.

"This is the fun part."

Out of the corner of his eye, Greg could see his that his arm had been covered up in stockinet to his shoulder and was now suspended from the traction frame in such a way that she could easily apply the cast and get the proper angles for his wrist and elbow.

"They call them finger traps," Cindy explained as she wound the cotton padding around his hand and wrist, then covered the distance up to the elbow. At that joint she was very generous with the padding. Finally she finished just above the head of his bicep.

"I thought we might use plaster of paris bandages on this arm. It's a different sensation as it's applied and while it cures."

Greg watched her activate the plaster impregnated gauze in the bucket of water on the floor next to the bed. She took her time wrapping it around his hand and wrist while molding and smoothing it with her gloved hands.

"Feels wet and slimy."

"Uh huh. Takes a while to dry, too." She continued to wrap and smooth the plastered arm until it reached about an a half inch below the padding. At that point, she flipped the excess stockinet and padding over the end and secured it with a few more turns of the wet gauze. She fixed the area around his palm and this thumb the same way.

"That felt good," he smiled dopily. "Comfy, cozy."

"Yep, that's the idea." Cindy wiped away the excess plaster drops with a towel. "And as it dries, it will get even better.

Greg closed his eyes, relishing the sensations of the new cast. What a difference in weight and texture compared to the one on his leg. If it weren't or the rigging, he would not be able to hold up his arm.

He opened his eyes as Cindy took a seat on his right. With a feather light touch she swept the stockinet up his arm to his shoulder again. "I'm going to demonstrate the wonders of fiberglass with this one. Whereas plaster takes more than twenty four hours to dry, fiberglass set up instantly and is completely dry in in about a half hour.

Cindy wrapped his hand and wrist in a claw-like pose. By holding his hand steady, he couldn't resist. She rotated his shoulder with his arm stretched out to the side and wrapped the fiberglass casting tape up over his elbow, pausing there to support he joint as the cast set. She continued right up to his armpit, finishing off the cast in the same manner as the other one.

"It looks like my hand is on upside down." Greg felt his rotator cuff resisting his arm's new twist. "I need something to support it before the stretch strains something."

Cindy complied, laughing at his concern for his shoulder. "Has it been fun?"

"It's been interesting. I think the plaster is curing. It feels warm."

"Nice."

"Yeah, nice," he said sleepily. "Why am I getting so tired?"

"You're trying to move when you can't, and you're expending energy."

"Makes sense."

"Why wouldn't it?"

"'Cause I could swear you've drugged me."

"No need. You're a willing participant."

Greg stared at the ceiling; it was all he could see. No limbs hung in the periphery, and yet he was comfortable. She must have propped him up on pillows to relieve some of the pressure. Although he couldn't remember her doing it.

It didn't matter. Cindy was back at the foot of the bed humming softly as she toiled at setting up the third and final cast. The fact that the rest of his body was laden and bound was exciting - especially as she held his foot in her hand. His heel rest in her left palm while her right hand encompassed his instep. The leg was still bare and now raised at an angle in her control. She swiped her thumb across his arch, sending shivers up his spine.

He wanted to pull his foot away, but chose not to. Cindy raised his leg higher, enabling her to lick the sole of his foot. He shuddered, trying to push through the casts. The immobilization and her control over his body's movement exited him. 'Little Greg' awoke like a rocket on the launch pad.

"I think I'm going to do something a little differently than planned."

"Do I have a choice?' He asked slyly. And before he knew it, his leg was casted straight from hip to ankle, his foot the only open joint. His manhood was standing at full attention as her hand swept his nether region on purpose.

"I can torture you now."

"Would you please?" The tension was mounting in him, little shocks cascading through his body each time she touched him.

She knew this was happening from the way he was breathing and the little expressions running across his face. There were all matter of stimuli at her fingertips. She started with ice. At first she slid it around the base of his toes. His foot curled back and met the cast's resistance. Unable to move his leg away, his spinal cord sent a message to shift his hip.

Cindy laughed. "Why do men like to suck women's toes?"

"I don't know. 'Cause it reminds us of having our cock sucked?"

"Let's see." Cindy took his big toe in her mouth, at first sucking playfully, then caressing it with her tongue and moving it around.

Greg's breathing got shallow. He flexed what he could of his fingers and toes, but the restriction fed into the pleasure he was feeling. 'Little Greg' throbbed painfully. "It hurts so good," he moaned.

"I can fix that."

She applied and ice cube to the very tip of his glans, causing him to writhe with spasms. Greg screamed out in rapture, wishing he could touch himself. He strained against the casts and found himself once again thrown into the loop of rising pleasure. "Mount me," he begged breathlessly.

"You're not ready yet." She crawled between his legs, pushing the casts wider apart. "I want you to watch."

"But I won't be able to participate."

"That's what makes it explosive."

He closed his eyes, panting as the excitement built in his core. The next time he opened them he was in a semi-sitting position. Both legs were in traction and spread as wide as his hips would allow. Both arms were perched on pillows for maximum comfort. The neck brace firmly held his head at one angle so he could see it all.

Cindy sat between his legs, an evil grin on her face. Greg's shaft was drench in hot fudge with whipped cream surrounding his balls and a touch as a hat on its head. Placed atop was a cherry. The stem had been inserted into his hole making it very sensitive.

She opened her mouth as wide as possible and swallowed him. Pulling up cleared away the cream, chocolate and cherry. Cindy chewed sensuously, then stuck out her tongue and produced the perfectly knotted cherry stem.

Orgasm exploded over him as his hips bucked and his body strained against it all. He ejaculated crying out with relief. Cindy grabbed his shaft and guided it into her vagina. Another orgasm hit as she rode him. She was tight. All that foreplay hadn't done a thing for her.


	43. Surfing Through the Morning

Surfing Through the Morning

The Head of Oncology sat at his desk signing off on charts when his phone rang. He picked it up not looking to see if it was an internal or external call. "James Wilson."

"Wilson, who's coming by at lunchtime?"

"Why, do you have a craving?"

"I have a broken leg; I'm not pregnant."

"You sure you're new girlfriend's not with child? Hopefully she's on the pill, or you're using condoms, or both."

"Okay, so I have a new friend. That doesn't mean I'm screwing her yet."

"Is that your definition of what makes a girlfriend?"

"I'm detecting a hint of jealousy."

"Look, whatever you and her are doing, that's your business. I'd just appreciate a heads up if you won't need me to stop by before work."

"You haven't stopped by before work," House threw back.

"Did so. Obviously you didn't notice the laptop on your writing desk."

Greg looked over to see what he was talking about. A replacement computer was waiting for him. "When did you drop it off?"

"This morning. You must have been oblivious in your post coital haze."

"Ha ha. There's nothing sexual going on…yet. Gotta go…And Wilson?"

"Yeah, House?"

"You're the best."

Greg hadn't moved around the house without supervision before, but he needed that laptop. He wanted to be ready to talk some options over with Cindy when she came back later. He found it amazing that the simple task of crutching for a purpose other than toileting was much easier when a goal was involved. He got to the desk in record time. He wasn't even winded.

Within minutes he was surfing the net for information on his new medical puzzle. The initial evidence he came across ranged from the informal to the obscene. The sites mostly dealt with bondage, dominance, and sadomasochism, or BDSM. While a tad freaky for his tastes, he had a little better understanding of what Cindy meant about trust. The general medical equipment used was often psychiatric restraints, surgical mouth gags, specula, enemas and urethral sounds. None of that was turning him on.

A more specialized search turned up a community of recreation casters. Sounded like a fishing club more than a medical community. That was until he clicked into a website. "Throw in the term orthopedic and that makes it medical," he mumbled.

Greg was a little unnerved by the people who fantasized about breaking a bone just so they could get a cast. Hell, that was just wrong. Wanting pain was abnormal. Or was it? Well, for some of these people it was.

Then there were the stories. People wrote about the heightened sexual arousal during casting, while having sex casted and, the more casts, the better. The one thing they all had in common was the feeling of restriction in movement from a more total form of bondage that was on the softer side.

He understood that. All he had to do was look at his leg. The only thing that moved were his toes. Just wriggling them feeling the casts edges at the ball of his foot sent a tingle all the way up. 'Little Greg' was pleased too. Next he tried to move his ankle, even a fraction. It didn't budge, but he became aware of the softness within the cast's confines. He knee was the same way.

"Damn," he said softly, his hand stroking his crotch. He had been bitten by the cast fetish bug. He hurriedly clicked back to photos of women in leg casts; some in crazy contortions that he was sure would never be used in a medical setting. 'Shit, this is better than porn,' he thought.

He started imagining himself at the hands of a merciless orthopedic technician who knew what she was doing. The positions she could force him into…the things she could do to him. He had never given over that kind of sexual power to anyone. Was he willing? Was he mentally ready?

At noon, Greg's door was opened gently. He watched with anticipation, wondering what Cindy would have changed into. He had only seen her in two types of clothing: scrubs and pajamas. After their last discussion and his little dream, he was hoping for a leather bustier and some fishnet stockings.

Instead he got Chase in cashmere.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Wilson asked me to check in on you. So how are you?"

"Not expecting you," he said while trying to hide the fact that he had excited himself with the idea of Cindy scantily clad.

"Well you got me. How long have you been out of bed."

"Too long. I took an extended nap on the couch and my leg is starting to throb."

"Well let's get you back in bed then." Chase wasn't sure where to start.

"I can manage," Greg stood using the crutches as best he could to pull himself up. The pounding in his leg got worse. "Damn." He steadied himself and waited for the worst of it to pass.

"What can I do?"

"Just get out of my way," he growled.

Chase complied and waited for his boss to do things at his own pace. "Foreman says the hook up is pretty easy. I stopped by Ortho to get some lessons; just so I didn't do anything wrong."

"It's so easy a monkey could do it." He glared at Chase like he was an idiot. Yet he was thankful that his underling was concerned enough to get it right and take a lesson or two before coming over.

"So where was Wilson this morning that he didn't come over?" Greg panted like each step he took was another rock up the mountain.

"Wait a minute. If Wilson didn't get you out of bed, who did?" Chase was confused. Was he being duped by House into thinking he was incapable of getting around.

"The ortho tech dropped by to save me," House said as if it were the most natural conclusion.

"Why'd she do that?" Chase felt as if he was intentionally be toyed with.

"Because she likes me, and she knows just the kind of friend Wilson can be."

Greg lay in bed watching the ceiling while waiting for the minutes to tick away on the clock. Chase had left him feeling old and used up. The young man just didn't get that goods looks and a taut body rarely lasted forever.

It was nearly half past two when his stomach growled. Chase hadn't offered to feed him, and he, himself, hadn't thought to eat. Now it was too late. Cindy hadn't stopped by since leaving earlier in the morning. He was alone. And lord only knew how long he'd have to wait for someone to rescue him.

He hated this helplessness. And at the same time, he needed the rest. Just the short trips to and from the bathroom and living room exhausted him. Was it really just the injuries, or had he run himself so ragged that his ability to heal was deterred? What other ramifications would he discover during the recovery process? How soon would he be able to get back into his normal routine. Hah, a normal routine. What he had was a pattern of work, drink, toss and turn, work, drink and toss and turn. Maybe this was the universe's way of telling him to change that. That is, IF he wanted to be an old man.

God, and old man! That's what he was. Jeesh, when did that happen? He never acknowledged it coming, even as it crept up on him at Mayfield. Mayfield...it felt like centuries ago, and yet, just like yesterday.

Greg ran his hands over his face and groaned in frustration. If this was what growing old was like, he did not want it at all. Fantasies were always better.


	44. Charlie Horse I

Charlie Horse

He woke up hard and excited, surprised he hadn't ejaculated in his sleep. His body ached a bit, as if it had been restrained to the bed and he fought it. Sweat trickled down his brow.

He had experienced sex dreams before. He never ached this bad afterward or had the sweats. Something was different. Something was wrong.

He felt a twinge, nonspecifically located somewhere within the cast. It was enough to be unsettling, since he hadn't had much tension in his muscles since the traction apparatus was introduced with the cast. Most likely it was a mini spasm from sitting up to long. His leg, now cradled protectively, had allowed for his hips and spine to realign. It was no big deal.

But he couldn't stop thinking about it. It didn't help that another twinge popped up a few minutes later. It was stronger, and he could pinpoint its general location - just below the knee. Within seconds, it twitched again. Then again. Soon it was like an irregular heartbeat. The muscle was going into spasm!

"No, no, no," he threatened his body helplessly, knowing if his thigh became involved, there'd be no chance of relief. He blindly reached on the nightstand for his phone. Cindy…he had to get her over here to do something.

'Hey, I can't come to the phone right now, so leave a message.'

"Damn it!" He tossed the phone back toward the table. It bounced, then dropped to the floor. "Shit!"

With no way to call anyone and his body tensing, he began to panic. Maybe he could undo the contraption. He had watched so many others do it before. All he had to do was lower it slowly. Sure, just lower it slowly while using two hands to pull unhook each sling. Yeah, right!

The twitching beat stopped. He would have preferred it to go on. But that was only because he felt the muscle fibers tightening. The pull started a chain reaction, up the leg, tensing his glutei, then lower right flank. It was the equivalent to a mounting charlie horse in the calf, only this was happening much higher up. The muscle bunched, the knot creating pressure in the cast. It caused a cascading failure of sorts as what was left of his quadriceps tried to stabilize the spasm. It felt like someone was ramming a pitch fork through his thigh.

He growled with pain, angry that he couldn't do anything to get to the spot. There was no way he could reach the slings, even if he let his leg drop to the mattress. He eyed the pulley system looking for a fail-safe mechanism that would quickly release in the event of an emergency. If there ever was a situation that required one, this was it.

Greg was able to reach behind him to the cord holding the weight bag. With great effort he swung at it, hoping to grasp any part that dared to cross his fingertips. The effort caused increase discomfort in his leg, but nothing as bad as the spasm was creating. With one last effort he reached for the cable, howling with the change of pressure it caused. He fumbled with the hook. The damn five pound bag wasn't easy to maneuver over his head, nor was it cooperative. Greg struggled, discouraged because he was in pain, couldn't move and couldn't get a damn five pound weight off a hook.

He pushed with his thumbs. 'Nearly there,' he thought. With one last breath he freed himself. His leg jerked forward but the cast did not drop. The sling under his calf was supporting it. He had one thought in mind, reach for his thigh, forgetting that the weight was still supported by his hands, until it slammed him in the face.

Cindy unlocked the door and immediately set down several packages that were threatening to fall. The first thing she noticed was Greg's absence from the living room. Dr. Wilson had called her to let her know he was sending someone over to give her respite. At the time she thought it was very kind of him to keep her in the loop. And yet she wondered how he even knew she had been spending time with Greg. Neither her nor Greg had given him their personal agendas. She shut the door behind her and forgot the packages for now. Her sole purpose for being there was to make sure Greg didn't need anything.

Before she reached the doorway to the bedroom something didn't seem right. It was a gut reaction that had been honed over the years of walking into patient rooms and sensing their agony before hearing their cries, making her acutely aware that all was not well. It was as if he had the super power of subsonic hearing.

"Greg?" She called out to let him know she was entering the room.

House lay in a mound in the middle of the bed. His body coiled as much as the cast would allow. He was clawing at the fiberglass shell trying to get his hands under the padding to squeeze the pain from his thigh. He didn't register her being there.

Greg was lost in a cocoon of pain. His breathing labored, his screams of pain no longer audible as he vocal chords were raw.

Cindy did not know how long he had been in this state, only that he was not in the beginning throes of torture. Sitting next to him she struggled to pull his hands to his chest to keep him from hurting himself further.

His face was a masque of agony. God she wished she had Atavan - or anything to knock him out.

"Concentrate on your breathing, Greg. Inhale."

He was diaphoretic and gasping like a fish out of water. The pulse in his wrist was weak. The carotid proved thready. She thought he'd have a heart attack or stroke out.

Cindy hated to leave his side, but she needed to call 9-1-1. The landline handset was in the living room. "I'll be right back."

Within seconds she was at side while talking on the phone. It felt like forever for the ambulance to arrive. Cindy stood back, shaking. It might be a ruptured aneurism or another clot. The way his body was responding, all things pointed to an interruption in blood flow.

The EMTs hooked him up to various monitors and tried to stabilize him before transporting.

"We're taking him to General," one said as he rolled the gurney out the bedroom door.

"Make it Memorial. His surgeon's there." She followed them down the hall.

"They've gone red."

"Take him to Princeton-Plainsboro. They have his history."


	45. Charlie Horse II

Charlie Horse - Part II

Cindy called ahead to let Wilson know they were coming in for a rough landing. He kept trying to ask questions, but she just hung up on him. She needed to focus on Greg's needs, not James'. She hoped the ER would be ready and waiting for their arrival. Cindy thought of another call she had to make. Within minutes she was leaving a message on Dr. Radcliffe's service to apprise him of the situation. Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital seemed like it was a million miles away and the ambulance was going about five miles an hour.

As House was rolled through the Emergency Room, he was vaguely aware that what he was encountering was more than a spasm. He tried to push the oxygen mask aside and announce that the felt weak and dizzy, but Cindy grabbed his hand as she ran next to him. This experience was new for him. Since he had become a doctor on staff here, he had been hospitalized numerous times. The various trips to the ER occurred when he was unconscious. It seemed only natural that he should wake up in a private room with Cuddy at his side.

He wished for that now as the hustle and bustle of medical personnel overwhelmed his senses. Cindy released his hand and left his peripheral vision. He half expected Cuddy or Wilson to take her place.

With is hand free again, he attempted to pull off the mask and assist with the diagnosis. "I feel-"

"You need that," Wilson said earnestly.

Greg tried to explain what he was experiencing, but the mask and the pain jumbled his words."

"Calm down before you have a stroke." James wasn't just holding his wrists to restrain his friend. He wanted to feel what the monitor was showing him.

Cuddy grabbed the chart from the nurses and glanced over the patient's vitals. "Portable X-ray is en route. We'll take him to MRI after that. If it's another clotting issue we'll do an angio and go from there." She handed the chart back to the closest nurse before leaning over her number one doctor. "House, hang in there."

He mumbled something unintelligible under the mask.

"Hang a bag of Ringer's and let's get some Atavan into him," she barked out before putting the stethoscope into her ears and listening to his chest. "Help me sit him up," she ordered Wilson. They positioned him so she could hear his lungs from the back. "Lungs sound clear."

The portable X-ray arrived, alerting most of the staff to clear the area. Wilson didn't want to leave, but Cuddy ushered him out of the curtained room. "You need to go sit down and relax while we run some tests."

"I want to stay with him." Wilson tried to look over her shoulder and beyond the curtain.

"Go wait with Cindy. She could use a friend right now."

Cindy was beside herself with worry, pacing the waiting room. She hated not knowing what was going on. Even more so she hated that she couldn't be with Greg when he needed her most.

Wilson stepped into the waiting room, expecting to find House's new friend among the people waiting for endeared ones to be seen. Instead, Cindy was pacing in front of the vending machines, biting her thumb nail. He stepped in her path.

"Any news," she said looking up. The urge to shake information out of him was barely suppressed.

"They're trying to stabilize him. We're waiting on X-rays and MRI's." James, too, was anxious and wanted to grill her on what had happened.

"Who was the last person to see him?"

He sensed accusation in her tone. "Dr. Chase."

"Is he still here? Can you page him?"

"Why, so you can blame him?" Wilson towered over her, exerting some of his own authority."

"Stand down, wonder boy. I'm not trying to find culpability. I just have a few questions for that person."

Wilson walked away from her and over to the triage nurse's desk. He called the operator and placed a page for Chase to meet him in the ER waiting room.

Chase ran through the halls, down the stairs and over to where Wilson was waiting for me. "I just go the news. What's happening?"

"Possibly another infarct," Wilson responded solemnly. He nodded in the direction of Cindy. "His new girl toy would like to talk to you."

Chase put a reassuring hand on Wilson's shoulder. "It's House. He's practically indestructible." He looked over his shoulder at Cindy. "We'll help him get through this."

Cindy had continued to pace until Chase blocked her path. He stuck his hand out. "Robert Chase. I'm one of House's Fellows."

"You were there this afternoon?"

"Yeah, at lunchtime. He was fine. In good spirits, no pain. So if you're looking to lay blame, don't look at me."

"I'm not blaming anyone," she sneered, looking beyond him to where Wilson was standing. "I just need to know if you put him back in traction."

"Of course I did! And I did it right. I even had the ortho techs here show me. I know I didn't screw up."

"Damn. He managed to get himself out."

"That means-"

"Yeah, he's done a bad thing."

"I gotta go tell Cuddy."

Lisa Cuddy assembled a team of specialists to aid in the analyzing House's test results. Dr. Woolf, Chief of Orthopedics; Dr. Brand, the vascular surgeon who removed House's first clot and assisted in the necrotic tissue debridement; and Eric Foreman, House's own hand-picked neurologist. She was going to make sure that whatever the diagnosis was, House was going to receive treatment immediately.

Eric Foreman stood in the back corner of the MRI booth. His arms were folded across his chest as the other doctors watched the computer screen. Of all the doctors House would have picked to be his medical team, he was probably the only one who would have been included.

Dr. Woolf looked at the X-ray results, comparing them to what was up on the screen. "With unstable fractures like this, his surgeon should have opted for stabilization with a medullar nail and screws. It's the best treatment option. We should go ahead with it once this issue is resolved.

"The last I knew, it was the patient's decision. House opted for a more conservative treatment," Foreman interjected.

"The patient's an idiot," Woolf tossed out.

"House is an idiot," Brand concurred. "But I understand why he did it. He's in chronic pain already. Screwing a strip of metal into his lower leg may stabilize the breaks, but the potential for pain complications from the hardware itself could cause further debilitation.

"If he was pissed after the muscle amputation, just think how livid he'll be if we crippled the leg entirely." Brand specifically spoke this last part to Cuddy.

"He's not going to be walking on the leg if the bone never heals."

Foreman sighed. "Could we focus on the problem at hand? There doesn't seem to be any further damage to the femur. Could we be looking for compartment syndrome? Do you see any vascular abnormalities, Dr. Brand?"

"From the looks of things, there's a great deal of inflammation. Conceivably pressure on the blood vessels could cause vasospasms. The creased blood flow would be painful enough. Wait, what was that?"

"An occlusion? A blockage?" Cuddy sounded like she was guessing. Within seconds it was gone.

"Back up! If it's a traveling clot we could be in for trouble."

"If it's moving, we may never find it until it's too late." Foreman wasn't feeling optimistic. "Can we angio the leg and see if there's any stenosis or other occlusions?"

"We should to determine the blood flow to the tissues. He can't afford to lose any more muscle."

Cuddy stood behind the specialist feeling a sense of déjà vu.


	46. Diagnosis and Treatment

Diagnosis & Treatment

House's sedated body lay in ICU while the team of doctors reviewed the test results and formulated a treatment plan. There were many problems that needed to be tended to surgically. Dr. Hadley was brought in on the differential diagnosis as House's health care proxy in case he couldn't make the necessary decisions to proceed with his care. It was a surprise to all, as no one, not even Thirteen, had known he had changed his proxy.

"The clots aren't coming from an infection. The spinal tap was clear," Foreman laid the results on the table.

"We think a non-union at one of the fracture sites is leaking marrow. While resting, the bones are aligned. It would seem when he's standing, gravity is exerting pressure and pulling the ends slightly apart. I'm going to recommend an IM rod and screws." Dr. Woolf was very straightforward.

Remy nodded, understanding why it needed to be done.

"We'll suck out the occlusion and stent the weakened vessel to keep blood flowing to the surrounding tissues," Dr. Brand added.

"What choice does he have?" Remy agreed that his was all in the patient's best interest. Now they just had to hope House would agree.

When sedation was withheld, Greg felt himself waking up. It wasn't a pleasant experience as pain coursed through his leg like someone was trying to hack it off with a butter knife. A really dull butter knife.

"Mmm," he mumbled, wanting to reach out and massage his leg before he even opened his eyes. Once he was aware of his surroundings, he gave up. "Why am I here?"

"Cindy found you incoherent and writhing in pain," Thirteen informed him.

"Hmm. Still in pain," he grimaced as he wondered why there was no relief.

"House," Cuddy commanded him to focus.

"This is killing me. I need something stronger for the pain." His eyes were watering as he tried to squeeze them shut against the agony.

"You have another infarct. You'll be in surgery within the hour."

"Do whatever you need to: WITHOUT REMOVING THE LEG!"

"House." It was Thirteen's voice. "It's a little more complicated than that."

He looked at her curiously, wondering why she was there and not Wilson. Then he remembered. "You're not allowed to remove anything but the damn clot," he forced out through clenched teeth.

"You heard him. We're good as long as we don't take anything he wants to keep," Remy confirmed as she stared down Cuddy. "He obviously wants circulation restored."

"Prep him for surgery," Cuddy ordered.

Thirteen didn't feel as relieved as she should have. Even though House was deemed aware and able to make his own decision about the procedures, he hadn't had informed consent. So, in effect, she okayed his decisions - even though she knew he'd complain about the potential complications the internal fixation could cause. Had this been any other person, she wouldn't care. Because it was House, and he chose her as his health care proxy, she was responsible to him.

Cindy was waiting outside the OR, just sitting there staring at a space on the floor when Remy walked in. She sat next to House's new friend. "Hey, how are you holding up?"

"I keep wondering if we could have done something different. If we missed something. If I did something wrong."

"Don't be so hard on yourself. He did everything he was supposed to."

"That's what's so crazy." Cindy looked up at her with imploring eyes. "Don't you see? That's why it has to be our fault."

"You can't be at fault for something like this. It's not humanly possible."

"We let him decide against internal fixation. He didn't want surgery and he was against putting metal in his leg."

Remy sat up as if someone had poked her. "Is that why he opted for closed reduction?"

"Yeah. He declined a stainless steel nail and screws. Something about not being able to have an MRI."

"Shit!"

"What?" Cindy stood, partly to stretch, mostly because Remy stood.

"He's having an IM rod put in. A stainless steel intramedullar nail and four screws." She looked to see Cindy's reaction before placing her head in her hands. "He's going to hate me."

Cindy sat back down and put an arm around her shoulder. "You had to decide what was best for him."

"He won't see it that way."

"Could have been worse. They could have chosen titanium."

"Why's that worse and not better?"

"Titanium screw heads tend to break off during insertion. And there's a slight chance the lower tip of the nail can break once he starts bearing some weight."

"That'd really piss him off," Remy seemed to brighten a bit with the news that it could be worse.

Wilson showed up a few minutes later. "The clot's out. The stent is holding. Angio shows good profusion of the affected areas."

Both ladies breathed a sigh of relief.

"When I left they were positioning him for the fixation."

"You're not going to watch?" Cindy was curious that he thought it was no big deal.

"What could go wrong?" Was she just trying to make him worry?

"You keep telling yourself that," she snorted as she left the waiting room.

"What crawled up her ass and died?" Remy hadn't seen much interaction between Cindy and Wilson before.

"She despises me," Wilson admitted.

"What did you ever do to her?"

"She's got 'pissed offedness by proxy'."

Remy arched an eyebrow, questioningly.

"It's way too convoluted to explain, and I'm not sure I even understand."


	47. Voice Of An Angel

Voice of An Angel

Greg stirred, his mind fogged by what he presumed was hard sleep. His mouth was dry, as if he had slept with it open the whole time. He tried to move his tongue around his mouth, move the saliva around a bit. All he managed was to unstick his top lip from his lower lip. A cool damp cloth was placed gently over his mouth. He sucked at it, trying to extract enough moisture to cool his feverish lips. The cloth disappeared. A cold, wet sensation replaced it.

"Ice chips," a voice spoke softly.

He sucked savagely at the fingertips as the moisture disappeared. The coldness was replaced once again.

"Put it on your tongue. Let it melt before you try to swallow." By now the ice was small.

He didn't heed her words and choked on what little water the ice produced. Greg didn't recognize the hoarse wheeze that served as a cough escaping his throat. He tried to form words.

"Shh. Don't try to talk. Sleep. You're not alone."

Ethereal. The voice that ministered to him was angelic, and yet melancholic. Was he dying? There was no way to tell. Numbness held him in a cocoon of non-feeling, non-being, for it was impossible to be alive without pain. Pain was unmistakably missing. Blissfully absent.

His mind worked at that fiber of knowledge. Tested it against all he knew. The voice. Another strand beginning to entwine with the first.

_Get off the bus, House._

_The white lights are nothing more than the brain shutting down._

'I'm dying,' he thought, 'or perhaps I am already dead.'

_Get off the bus, House._

_But I don't hurt here._

The Fates had taken up his frayed and split threads, plaiting them in a frantic dance as the deeds of his past untangled them. He decided he was dying; nearly at the end of the proverbial rope. He had to make a choice: stay on the bus, or live. Any other time he'd opt for the bus. Right now, at this moment, he wasn't ready to die.

'How am I supposed to wake up,' he formed the thought in his mind. The other times when he had come to, sensation was the first step. This should be easy. In his head he was aware of what he needed to feel. But no matter how hard he wished it; no matter how hard he tried to feel existence, there was nothing. A small cry of terror escaped his throat.

"Shh. You're safe. Sleep."

The voice again. "Are you real?" He felt the air move through is throat and beyond his lips, but it didn't sound like him.

"Yes, Greg, I'm real," Cindy chuckled. "And you're obviously wasted."

A smile graced his lips. Not dead. Not even close. On opiates. Hallucinating. No wonder he associated it all with Amber.

"No oh…"

"Shh. She fed him ice again. "No opiates. Lots of other good things to keep you comfortably numb."

Foreman came in to check on his patient and to see if he could coax Cindy into going home for a while. He looked at the chart hanging on the end of the bed. Then he checked out House's heart and lungs. All systems seemed to have stabilized over the last few hours.

"You should go home and get some rest."

"I want to be here when he opens his eyes."

"I doubt that's going to happen any time soon."

"He stirred, just before you came in."

"Did he say anything?"

"He mumbled some things. I couldn't understand any of it. He sucked on some ice chips, then drifted off again."

That reminded Eric to check his urine output. They were able to locate three fat emboli that escaped a fracture site. While the surgeon was plucking one out of his leg, it dislodged and disappeared. His body went into shock, then systemically started shutting down. Not all of it was from the singular rogue embolus. There was only so much a body could take. Evidently, House's had reached its limit.

The urine wasn't exactly the color Foreman had hoped for. "He might need dialysis."

"If the clot hit a kidney, why are they both shutting down?"

"We don't know. He's had eons of abusing his body. Could be he's at his wailing wall."

"So what now? What if his kidneys continue to fail?"

"We keep him stable for as long as we can and hope for a miracle."

"So no transplant."

"His case wouldn't even make it to the transplant committee's agenda."

"Damn. Means we'd have to make a plea for a donor to come forth."

Eric snorted. "House wouldn't just take anyone's kidney. He'd want to interview them first."

"Let's hope he gets the chance."

"You should go. We'll call you if he wakes up." He saw the look of skepticism on her face. "I promise."

"Are you going to stay with him now?"

"Dr. Hadley's going to spend some time with him. Then Wilson, then Cuddy." Her skepticism reappeared. "Don't worry. They'll call you if there's any change."

"I doubt that." Cindy gathered her belongings before going over to the bed and kissing Greg's forehead.


	48. Visiting Hours

Visiting Hours

Thirteen's vigil in the ICU was uninterrupted boredom. House slept while she wished she could. Foreman came in and drew a blood sample for analysis. That was the highlight of her shift.

The attending nurse on the ward entered the room to perform her routine checks and charting. House was barely aware of the procedure. His body maintained a level of unconsciousness equal to that of deep sleep.

Wilson's watch was less humdrum. House was set up on dialysis. With his blood being cleaned, the medication that kept him sedated would wear off sooner unless they kept pumping it into him. And that would be a dangerous thing to do. As it was, they weren't sure if the various drugs they were using to keep him comfortable were contributing to the kidney problems. Stopping them altogether seemed like a bad idea. So his team of doctors were at an impasse.

Hours into the process, Greg stirred again. Wilson stood by his bedside, holding his hand, talking to him about their adventures together. He hoped it was comforting to his friend. He knew it was comforting to himself.

Greg's mind didn't fight the ride to consciousness. The voice calling to him was like a lighthouse, guiding him through the dense fog. He was aware of his body this time. At least he thought he was. The fog seemed to envelope him in a wooly comfort that shielded pain without numbing being. He struggled to push through the misty veil, but then the beacon went dark.

"I'm going now, House. Cuddy's coming. I'll be back tomorrow."

Another ICU nurse did the routine checks and charting. At one point the patient's eyes fluttered open. Then he was out just as quickly as he had come to.

It was Lisa Cuddy's turn to sit watch. She hadn't wanted to. And yet she knew she had to. House's friends and colleagues had volunteered to spend time with him until he awakened. She took the last slot, hoping not to have to spend time away from her daughter while waiting for the man she hopelessly loved to wake up and move on without her. Sure their relationship was over, but that didn't mean she didn't still have feelings for him. It was a love-hate relationship now. She loved working with him, his brilliant mind, and the banter; but now she hated having to hide how she felt about him. He wouldn't change for her. She was wrong to ask, but she couldn't have that influence guiding her's and Rachel's life. So they agreed to remain friends. Friends without benefits, per his request. It would be the only way he could move on.

"I miss you, House. No one's barged in my office in over two weeks to ask for anything off the wall." Wilson had asked her to talk to him and not just sit there waiting. She'd feel better for it. Lisa wasn't so sure. What could she say to him other than to talk shop?

"Foreman's good, but he doesn't have the balls to ask to cut off a patient's head to look down his throat for nodules on the vocal chords." She laughed at her own joke. This was nerve wracking. She was saying stupid stuff just for the sake of talking. Surely he wasn't listening.

Greg stirred. He was closer to the shore. A woman was talking now. Was it a siren waiting to pull him overboard? Dare he look over the boat into the waters?

"I'm sorry," she continued. "I wish we could have gone somewhere other than the bedroom with our relationship. I realize how wrong I was to want to change you."

The siren was luring him in, to his destiny. His heart said to look, but his brain shouted NO!

"Even though we won't ever be together, the thought of losing you is more than I can handle. More than any of us want to face."

Maybe his brain was right. She was calling to him. Without him the siren was lost. By going to her, he'd lose himself, but THEY would, somehow win.

"We didn't tell you. It wouldn't have been fair, but it's been over a year now. That time you spent at Mayfield. We were all lost. Sure the hospital continued to go on and function, but each of us, me, Wilson, your team, we all moved as if nothing much mattered. Waiting, hoping, counting away the days until you'd return."

The fog was clearing. She was telling him he needed to return. They were waiting for him. The shore was in sight. He just needed a little more wind to push him through.

His eyes fluttered and his hand flexed in hers. Lisa's eyes welled with tears of joy.


	49. Angel Revisited

Angel Revisited

His mouth was dry again. He hoped that by licking his lips, she'd remember from the last time and feed him ice chips. But none was forthcoming. He opened his eyes, blinking rapidly in the brightness before settling on closing them again.

He was waking up, each system coming online like a sleeping computer being asked to perform a command after a long dormancy. The first and most important system check was the external body. Sensations could tell a full story.

His head was intact. No pain. Some pressure behind his ears and under his nose. A cannula maybe. Greg managed to swallow past the dryness of his throat. No tubes. The upper body felt 'normal'; no pain, no heaviness. His arms did seem weak. One hand was immobilized beyond the wrist. Probably to keep it straight for the IV line. The other hand was being held.

He could feel her looking at him. Her eyes staring intently. The hope washing off her and lapping at him. He managed to stretch his dry lips ever so slightly and flex his hand a bit to let her know he was there.

Greg's internal body scan worked its way down from his waist. Something wasn't right. Something was missing. His brain couldn't process that just yet. Nevertheless, he started to panic. Maybe this wasn't reality. Maybe he was reliving a nightmare from his past.

The monitor showed an increase in heart rate and blood pressure. "House, calm down," she cooed. "You're going to be okay. You're safe."

This wasn't his angel speaking to him. She didn't offer him drink or the sweet peace of sleep or companionship. She didn't explain to him the lack of pain he should have was due to a nice cocktail of drugs. Of course an hallucination would say all those good things. It was his brain's own coping mechanism to protect him from the reality of the situation.

His brain had been able to process the lack of feeling of his right leg. It just didn't want him to know it was gone. Greg's eyes popped open with his mouth. He was gasping for air and screaming, yet no sound came. The pure emotional shock sent his mind reeling.

Cuddy hit the call button as she yelled at House to calm down. The ICU room was filled with a cacophony of monitors blaring and Cuddy shouting out orders until another dose of sedative was administered and everything went back to where it began.

Cindy raced back to the hospital after receiving Dr. Foreman's call. She kicked herself mentally for going home. She had showered and slept while he lay tortured. And when he awoke for the first time, she was not there to comfort him.

Dr. Foreman told her not to rush, that the sedation would last an hour or two. They wanted him to wake, to tell them what they couldn't discover by testing. Cindy vowed not to leave again until he was cognizant enough to understand what had happened and why they had done certain procedures.

Wilson pulled into the parking lot at the same time. They walked into the hospital together, but any stranger would have believed it coincidence. Wilson wanted to say something to Cindy, but the scowl on her face deterred him.

On the elevator ride up to ICU Cindy confronted him. "You haven't even said hello or of if you know anything more than I do. What IS your problem?"

They stepped from the elevator onto the second floor. "I don't know. Maybe I thought you might bite my head off if I said anything."

She pushed ahead of him to get through the door to Greg's room first, only to find that she and Wilson were the last ones to arrive.

Thirteen stood at the foot of the bed looking withdrawn and tired. With the latest medical dilemma and his recent panic over what she could only assume he suspected. She felt it necessary to wake him and explain the situation. They couldn't keep it from him forever. They'd have to eventually tell him they did a procedure they knew he didn't want, but it was the soundest option they had.

Dr. Hadley had forced Cuddy to tell her about the time he had woken up from the last unwanted surgery. His reaction had been similar and his acceptance and recovery hindered by the betrayal. The best thing for House to do was face his current situation head on. The last time he didn't have the support he needed. Now he had many people to lean on.

Cuddy raised the bed a few degrees higher so that he could see everyone around him. Chase removed his blankets so he could see himself. Wilson took his free hand. Cindy stood next to Remy. Taub stood by the door, ready for just about anything; including a hasty retreat.

"Wake him up," Thirteen instructed Foreman.

Within minutes House was stirring. The emotional agony of his last waking was still evident in his facial expressions. Foreman kept an eye on the monitors making sure his boss didn't reach a crisis. Wilson held his had between both of his own, an intense look of hope on his face. Cuddy stood on his left side, her hand caressing his forehead, then cheek. Chase checked his watch. Thirteen glared at the patient, willing him to wake. Taub was conflicted, not wanting to witness House at this particularly vulnerable moment.

Cindy felt like a voyeur in a surreal movie scene. This was theatre of the absurd. It seemed as if each of these people were tethered to life as they knew it by one man. She felt more or less compelled to touch him as well.

And it wasn't until she placed her hand on his foot that his eyes opened. Those piercing blue orbs were now dull and cloudy. They looked out to each person almost blindly. Why were they all here gathered at his bedside? What did it mean?

"House, stop avoiding it and look," Thirteen said harshly.

Greg shook his head almost imperceptibly.

"It's all right," Cuddy said bravely.

He recognized her as the siren.

Each person said something encouraging. And yet he wasn't inspired to see what he couldn't feel; what was missing. Greg closed his eyes to fight back the tears welling at the corners. He didn't want them to witness this. He had to be stronger, even if he felt weakened by his circumstances.

"Shh." A voice cooed. "You're safe. You're not alone. We're here for you."

He opened his eyes, looking for his angel of mercy. She stood at the foot of the bed, forcing him to look down. He cried freely. The leg was still there! The relief outweighed the fact that he couldn't feel it at all.

"House," Foreman commanded his attention. His patient looked at him directly. "Your leg is numb because we gave you a nerve block. Do you understand?"

He nodded, still not able to find his voice. Looking at the leg was much easier now. House wanted to touch the new bandages and feel it's solidity under his hands to prove it was real.

"We're here, and this is not an illusion," Cindy offered. She pushed past Foreman and Cuddy to take his hand and rest it on his right thigh.

He was crying again. This woman, who barely knew him, understood what he needed. And in the theatre of the absurd, once the outcast, she became the one logical thing he needed.

His team left the room together.

"That went well," Taub commented stoically.

"That went incredibly well," Chase concurred.

"It was a good idea," Foreman put a reassuring hand on Remy's shoulder.

"Yeah. Just wait until he finds out they did a surgery he didn't want." She was glad House was okay, yet she dreaded his reaction to her decision when he fully came aware.

The people in House's life circled in their usual orbits throughout the next few days. The post-surgical pain was barely tolerable once the nerve block wore off. He wondered how much new damage there was as his leg was kept immobilized in a splint. He was promised a shiny new cast similar to the previous one. Dr. Woolf had explained the need for the procedures to stabiles the fractures based on the potential for more emobli. It was a basic, 'you needed it, we did it, we'll talk about it when you're stronger' conversation. House was non-plussed by this news.

What bothered him was the kidney issue. He wanted to get to the bottom of what was causing it, knowing if he went into full failure, or the kidneys were permanently damaged from prolonging the diagnosis, transplant would not be an option. Most of the time he drifted off to sleep thinking about it.


	50. Flare Up

Flare Up

The pain was intense for the first twenty-four hours. Cindy took a few more days off from work to stay by his side through the worst of it. Greg was, by far, unpleasant. His irascible mood and berating comments bit hard. He seemed to know how to push each person to a breaking point.

Remy Hadley wanted to stay far away from her boss as possible. She even offered to work more clinic hours, but Dr. Cuddy pretty much ordered her to House's room.

"He's alert, and he wants to rip you a new one," Cuddy smirked, remembering how it felt to be on the receiving end of the worst House had to offer.

Thirteen steeled herself against the inevitable. When she reached his room, she noted Cindy was there. Maybe he would be civil in her presence. Fat chance! She knocked, then entered.

"Hey," Remy said hesitantly.

"I guess I have to thank you," Greg grimaced through the pain.

"Definitely not the 'talking to' she was expecting to get. Her eyes were wide with shock.

"Don't look so surprised."

"I thought you'd be upset."

"I'm more upset that I didn't have the procedure done right off the bat. I was going to wait for my follow-up to suggest it." He noted the mixed expression. "Your lips are smiling but your eyes are frowning. What's on your mind?"

"Well, the thought of you going to a follow-up is amusing. Yet I'm concerned you waited so long."

"Hello, thought you knew me. I'm a glutton for punishment." House was trying to be funny, but the pain was mounting.

"When's the last time you had something for the pain?"

"About that. Whatever I'm getting isn't helping. It's not even taking the edge off."

"You're not going to ask me to give you opiates or have Cuddy induce a coma or anything weird like that?"

"Ah, you've talked to Cuddy."

"I needed to know what you might expect and what I was up against."

"Now you know. I'm doing all I can to keep it together. Once I can't take it anymore, you're going to have to step in and make the decisions."

"What are your wishes?" She glanced to Cindy to see if she was paying attention.

"First, the anti-inflammatory are trashing my kidneys."

"How do you know?" Remy was curious.

"Consulted the top nephrologists in the world."

She had an _a ha_ moment.

"Unless you get me off of them, I'm going to go into kidney failure. I'm not particularly fond of that idea. In order to trade off my life for…my life, the pain is going to be more than I care to handle. When that time comes, I want opiates."

He was very clear, yet Remy nodded hesitantly.

"You don't seem sure. I'm very certain that's what I want." House locked eyes with Remy.

"I'll talk to your doctors." She still didn't think it was a good idea, but she would talk to the powers that be.

"I'm counting on you as my proxy," he called out as Thirteen departed.

Cindy offered Greg a reassuring smile. "I'm proud of you."

"Why?"

"Cause you are being honest about the pain, about what you need."

"So it's okay to need opiates but not want them?"

"You can't always get what you want; but you get what you need."

"I need a little something, something to take the edge off." His voice was tired.

"DUH!" He hit the call button.

A nurse came into the room. "What can I help you with?"

"I need something for the pain."

"I'll check your chart."

"Good, you do that. Then bring a goddamn syringe full of muscle relaxants, anesthetic or a paralytic. I don't care. Just bring me something, NOW!"

"Calm down," Cindy put a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't tell me to calm down!"

"Fine. Get exacerbated. Have a fucking heart attack. Be miserable and dead. It suits you." _Why was he so insufferable?_

If someone could grimace with pain and laugh at the same time, it was House.

"I was just kidding about the heart attack part," Cindy said sheepishly.

"Shut up." It was half moaned, half yelled.

Before either one of them could take their tiff any further, the nurse returned. House held up his wrist where the IV port was.

"Not this time," she said pulling the blanket aside.

"Where are you putting that?"

"In your hip."

"Like hell!"

She injected him, but not without trouble. He was trying to swat her away while having his own brand of temper tantrum. The nurse huffed in frustration, leaving without charting the injection.

"You should worry less about yelling at everybody and more about resting."

"But what she did was idiotic," Greg whined.

"So what? It's not your right to abuse the staff," Cindy reasoned. "And by the way, rumor has it you think everybody's an idiot. So why waste your breath?"

He pulled his had away from hers. "It's the pain."

"You barely let her get it in you."

"It's not helping." The desperation in his voice was unnerving.

"It'll never be enough if you keep being agitated. Just accept that the next person that walks through the door is going to be a pain in the ass, and let it go."

"That takes all the fun out of being a misanthropic ass."

"But you're my misanthropic ass. I don't want to share you." She grabbed his hand back and kissed it.

He tried to shift over on the bed. Big mistake. He pulled away again, ramming the heels of his hands into his eyes.

"Why did you do that?" Cindy knew that little effort was both excruciating and exhausting.

"I wanted to make room for you on the bed. I want to hold you."

"Okay," she said, complying. "I've got enough room."

It wasn't easy, but awkward and uncomfortable to try to not hurt him or cause him any discomfort. She snuggled in as close as she dared without adding any disturbance to his body. Greg wrapped his arm around her. Cindy could feel his tension. After a few minutes he began to relax.

"Are you going to ask me to promise to be nice to people?" He could only see the top of her head, so he looked up at the ceiling.

"Hell no, everyone knows you can't teach an old dog new tricks."

"Are you saying I'm old?"

"No, I'm saying you're a dog."

The both chuckled.

"But I'm your dog." He couldn't believe his luck to have found a woman who understood how to deal with him. No matter how awful his behavior or how verbally harsh he was, she didn't try to change him. She pointed out the error of his ways, then proceeded to tell him she still wanted him.

Cindy lay at his side smiling. He was calming down. No doubt this type of comfort relaxed him; lessened the pain. If this was all it took, she'd be able to supply him with this type of pain relief as often as needed.

They lay there, falling asleep holding each other while the Dean of Medicine finished hearing the complaints of House's most recently abused nurse. The staff was becoming adamant that House was purposefully being mean. Cuddy had no doubt House was exercising his sarcastic muscle. It's what he did best when he was in pain. Obviously he was suffering. She'd have to do something to ease the nursing staff's grief and aggravation - before the union threatened to strike.

Determined to request his cooperation for the sake of the staff, she headed to his room. She wasn't prepared for what she found. Her first thoughts were not of 'thank god he's resting' or 'he looks much calmer', but of 'what in the hell is SHE doing on the bed with HIM!' "This is a hospital, not a bordello," she mumbled, unaware that her fists were clenched.

Instead of heading into the room and checking with the patient, she walked behind the nurses' station and made a call.

Wilson stopped dead in his tracks, frowning. Leave it to House to find a way to get a little something something while in the hospital. The fact that Cindy was there all day was annoying. Laying on the bed was just wrong.

"Oh dear," Blythe House gasped as she realized her son wasn't the only body in the bed.

Cindy woke up with a start. She hadn't realized she had fallen asleep. She quickly tried to untangle herself from Greg and get off the bed. She nearly fell in the process.

Greg stirred at the disruption but remained asleep.

"You must be Greg's new friend. Wilson mentioned…you." Mrs. House wasn't sure how to refer to the woman she just caught in her son's bed.

"Cindy McNalty. I can only assume you must be Greg's mother."

Blythe introduced herself. "How is he?"

"Resting finally. He was having a tough time earlier."

"So you crawled into bed with him and made it all better," Wilson asked innocently.

Blythe was astonished by the tone of his comment.

Cindy smiled evilly. So many nasty replies waited to be said. "I won't apologize for Dr. Wilson's poor remark. You see, he thinks Greg and I have a purely sexual relationship. He couldn't be farther from the truth. Greg and I are not sexually involved."

"Not yet," House pipe up. "Hi, Mom."

"Hi, honey. She left Wilson and Cindy to glare at each other while she kissed her son's cheek.

"You didn't have to come. How'd you find out?"

They both looked over her shoulder at James.

"She called me. What was I supposed to tell her?"

"It's okay," he told Wilson. "I'm glad you're here, Mom."

"Now, tell me how you're doing and what I can do to help you."

"I'm okay," he sighed easily. He was finally getting some relief. "As for the 'what can I do to help', how about you lay here with a metal rod in your leg and I'll hang out with Wilson."

She smirked. "As tempting as that sounds, I'll have to pass."

"Can't blame a guy for trying," he said to nobody in particular. "Could you guys take your hate fest out into the hall. I have to talk to my mom."

Once his friends were outside, he studied his mom carefully. "Why are you really here?"

"James called me." She watched her son scowl. "Don't be mad at James, he was concerned."

"Did he tell you I needed a kidney or that I needed to be rescued from my girlfriend?"

"You have a girlfriend? I didn't notice."

"Ha ha." His tone was sarcastic, but his smile met his eyes.

"They're going to throw you out of here in a day or two. You're going to need someone to take care of you for a while."

"I can hire people."

"You don't want your mom to take care of you?"

"You have a life. You shouldn't have to take care of your kid. Even if it's an old kid."

"Since your father died, I've been doing a lot of things to find purpose. One of the things I wanted to do is spend some time with my son."

Greg's smile turned to a grimace. "What time is it?"

"Four thirty-ish." She checked her watch.

"Okay, good." He made a mental note of when he could get another dose.

"If you're hurting, ask for something." Blythe was worried her son would wait too long.

He shook his head. "Just had one."

Mrs. House stepped away to the bathroom. She returned to her son's bedside with a wet wash cloth in her hand. The coolness against his face would make him feel better.

Greg closed his eyes. The only other person he'd tolerate this from was Cindy. And even then he'd say something derogatory. But he couldn't berate his mother. She'd be hurt by his comments.

Instead he remained quiet and docile. The time of the first infarction was on his mind. Cindy stood where Stacey once had. His mother had been supportive - as supportive as one could be with a man like John House for a husband. The one thing Greg heard over and over was Stacey telling him how he was pushing her away.

That confession came five years after the fact-when her husband was dying. He was so hurtful, so angry with her for allowing them to remove the dead and dying muscle tissue. And it was worse that he thought she did it to prove to him she was the stronger willed of the two. If she could physically cripple him, then she could be the more powerful of the duo.

Greg shuddered with that thought. It was irrational and a stupid thing to believe. But at that time he was vulnerable. And he was vulnerable now. Pushing away the people who cared about him would be bad. He still wasn't completely over Stacey. The fact that she wasn't an active part of his life made it easier to forget her; but the minute her name was mentioned or he saw someone that looked like her, his heart skipped a beat. Secretly, a small part of him wanted her to know that he had survived another infarct. And this time nobody tried to chop off his leg.

The dichotomy made him chuckle. What was there left to prove? Nothing. He had family and a friend or two who loved him, stood beside him and believed in his judgment. And he had Cindy. The promise of Cindy and some kinky sex gave him something to look forward to. He chuckled again.

"Are you lucid?"

Greg's eyes focused on Cuddy. "Where's my mom?"

"She went to your apartment a few hours ago."

"She was just here." He felt confused.

"You fell asleep after we gave you an injection for the pain."

"I don't recall-"

"Don't' worry too much about it. It's more powerful than you remember." Cuddy placed a reassuring hand on his forearm.

"Is Cindy still around?"

"She went home, too. Do you want me to stay with you? Cuddy wanted to. A pang of jealousy made her want to cling to this man and keep a claim on him.

"I'll be okay. You can go home to your rugrat. She needs you more."

"I don't want to leave you if you need me." Cuddy brushed the hair back from his brow.

Greg didn't miss the fact that she was doting on him. Was this one of those benefits that he reserved for those he was intimate with? Or was this just a gesture of friendship? It was hard to tell. Since having Rachel, her maternal instincts were much stronger than she'd wanted to admit. He decided it was just a mom thing.

It didn't stay just a mom thing for long. Cuddy's eyes pierced his, looking for a familiar spark between them. Greg had a hard time looking away, but he forced himself to look elsewhere. She held his cheek in her hand, caressing it, daring him to tell her to stop. When he didn't, she kept it up.

"Did they say when they were coming back?" He raised his hand to hers, gently pulling it away from his face.

"No."

Great, now she was upset that he stopped her. But it was beginning to feel like the friends with benefits clause he decided against when they bargained what their relationship would be.

"Lisa," he started, yet really wasn't sure what he was going to say. "I can't." He shook his head.

He didn't have to say anything else. She understood that he was rejecting her. She shook her head in agreement. "You're right. It's wrong of me to think that you would want me to comfort you when all I did was nag and try to make you into something you could never be."

No sooner had she left, he hit the call button. Cuddy was confused as the nurse passed her and went into his room. She waited at the desk to see what he needed.

The nurse returned with his chart and made a phone call to a number she found in it.

Cuddy eavesdropped on the call. Her heart sinking when the nurse told Cindy that House was asking for her to come.

"Are you okay," Cindy unraveled herself from her winter garments and laid them on the chair next to the bed. She quickly stepped to Greg's side and took over what Cuddy had been doing a short while before.

"I was feeling a bit vulnerable. And you're a good influence on me. So I thought, 'what the hell, let's see if she's interested in coming over and having a game of twister'." He tried to smile but failed.

"What's really wrong?" Cindy wasn't fooled. She knew he was too proud to ask for anyone to sit with him. Granted he wouldn't necessarily throw you out if you were there, unless you made his pain worse.

"I think my ex is forgetting that we're not a couple anymore." He hated saying it like that, but he didn't know how else to put it.

"So you needed to show a force of solidarity." Cindy scowled. "Thanks for using me."

"I know that's what it sounds like, but it's not what it is."

"Greg, you have one hell of a way of expressing yourself." She kissed him to let him know it was okay. She understood.

"Why do you always find the good in me? Even when I'm mean and bitter, you see right through it to what I really am trying to accomplish." He held her hand while looking deeply into her eyes.

"I don't know. I guess I figure most people are misunderstood."

"I'm not most people."

"You certainly aren't."

"One day you're going to realize that I'm not misunderstood. You'll realize you misunderstood me." He was afraid that she'd wake up one day and realize he wasn't worth the effort anymore.

"You think so? You think that I don't worry that one day you'll figure out I'm not who you think I am? What you feel is very Jungian."

"Oh god, psycho-babble."

"Okay, okay, no psychoanalysis. Just know you're not alone in how you perceive yourself and how you are perceived. We all display onstage behavior to the world. That's just an act. It's what we reveal to each other behind the scenes that matters. And I still like what I'm seeing behind the blackout curtain."

He was smiling. Maybe she didn't misunderstand him after all.

"Besides, my mother always told me that if you could put up with a partner when they were sick, you could pretty much deal with anything."

"So I'm passing the litmus test?"

Cindy bunched up her face. "Actually, I think she said if your partner can put up with you when you're at your worst, then he's a keeper."


	51. Placebo Effect

Placebo Effect

Dr. Darryl Nolan was called in again to consult on House's case. It was House, himself, who diagnosed his kidney failure. And when it was brought up to his team and surgeons, they had to agree. How ironic was it that it took ten years of Vicodin abuse to produce liver toxicity and hallucinations, but only two years of chronic use of anti-inflammatory drugs to disrupt kidney function?

"It's the addictive behavior," Nolan said matter-of-factly. "When the pain got worse, you took more and more."

Greg nodded, ashamed that he had substituted one addiction for another, seemingly less harmful substance.

"Did you not know this would happen?"

"I just didn't think it could happen so fast."

"Two years is fast?"

"Time flies when you're trying to have fun."

"I don't see much of a choice but to go back on some form of opiates to help you get through the next few weeks." Nolan knew they had no other options.

"I'm afraid. I don't want to get hooked. And I don't want to hallucinate," House confessed.

"You won't be on large doses. Just enough to help you cope with the pain. You'll be monitored closely, and on a strict schedule."

"Sounds scary."

"There will be heavy pain at times that might make you want more than you can have."

Greg winced. "I'll just have to suffer through."

"You'll make it. Remember, it's better than needing a kidney transplant."

House snorted, "As if I'd find one."

"I'm going to meet with Dr. Cuddy and Dr. Woolf to discuss the new pain management regimen. You hang in there." Nolan patted Greg on the shoulder.

Dr. Nolan requested a private conference room with locking doors at the location to discuss the patient's new drug therapy. He invited Drs. Cuddy, Woolf and Brand, as well as House's team, Dr. Wilson, Cindy and even Dr. Radcliffe. Once everyone was seated, he locked the door and drew the blinds.

"I wanted you all to be here to hear this from me," Nolan began. Dr. House is going to go back on opiates as part of his pain management regimen while he's healing." He saw the objections as they crossed each participant's face. Putting up his hands in a gesture of placation, he continued. "I know you all think it's a bad idea. Greg thinks so too, but opposed to kidney failure, he's agreed that he needs to manage the pain more aggressively for the time being.

"Drs. Cuddy, Brand, Radcliffe and Woolf and myself have come up with a schedule that we think will help Greg deal with the pain - without getting him addicted to the opiates again. We're going to trick his brain into thinking he's taking more than he actually is."

"The placebo effect. That's you're bright idea?" Wilson scoffed. "We've tried that before."

"And it worked," Cuddy interjected. "He thought he was getting morphine in the spine when I was only injecting saline."

"Okay, so it worked once." Wilson snorted. "From the sounds of it, you plan on trying it more than once."

"Won't House figure it out? One day he'll be feeling relief, the next he won't." Chase was with Wilson. House was no dummy.

"For this to work, we all have to be convincing." Nolan looked sternly at Wilson, then at Chase. "All of us."

"I don't know if I can do it," Wilson conceded.

"I don't think it's ethical," Thirteen piped up.

"There you have it," Wilson pointed to Remy. "She's his health care proxy, and she says no."

"I said it was unethical, not that we shouldn't do it," Remy sniped.

"Besides, he's making the decisions."

"And if he's too out of his mind with pain because he's on a placebo, you get to make the decisions," Wilson rubbed it in. "Then what?"

"Listen, it's not going to happen like you think." Nolan stood at the head of the conference table. "Greg knows he's going to get metered doses. He'll know when he's maxed out and unable to get more. He knows he's going to have pain, and that there will be times when the medication will barely take off the edge. We've set him up for it emotionally.

"What he won't know is exactly how much he's getting and when. He'll get real doses of real medication. He'll also get lower doses than he's told he's getting. All dosages will be administered by Drs. Cuddy or Woolf, or one of the Fellows. Drs. Brand and Radcliffe are involved so that when House believes there is something fishy going on, they will be able to verify that he is getting what he needs."

"And we know he will think he's figured out what we're doing. That's why we all have to be on the same page," Cuddy interjected.

Cindy rolled her eyes.

"You seem skeptical," Nolan had noticed. "You have something to add?"

"We all know his pain is real. I understand what you're doing and why you're doing it. I get it. But you're going to need to have some other forms of relief available for him when the pain medication he thinks he's getting isn't enough or doesn't work."

Wilson could only nod in concurrence. House was going to be a bear when the pain came without relief.

"We'll have a physiotherapist and massage therapist at his disposal." Cuddy made some notes as a reminder to herself to set that up.

"Since a lot of his pain may be due to inflammation, I recommend that you keep his leg elevated as much as possible. As the muscles in his thigh tend to give him the most problem, range of motion and isometric exercises might help with the spasms-"

"If we use a bi-valve technique at the thigh portion of the cast, say two and a half to three inches above the knee, and make a removable panel, we could curtail the muscle cramps and apply moist heat and/or electrical stimulation as needed." Cindy had interrupted her boss to deliver another method.

Radcliffe nodded.

Dr. Woolf was astonished. Why didn't he think of it himself?

"Now I know why House has a team," Nolan muttered.

Wilson smiled at Cindy. She was a lot like House in her unusual way of thinking out treatments that required out of the box solutions. No wonder he liked her.

She didn't reciprocate the feeling. If anyone was going to screw things up for Greg, it would probably be his best friend.

On their way out the door, Wilson caught up with Cindy. "Why are you so obstinate?"

"Excuse me?"

"You have this attitude like I'm the enemy; that the staff at Princeton- Plainsboro Teaching Hospital are idiots."

"If the shoe fits," she pulled away from him.

James caught her by the elbow.

Cindy looked at his hand on her arm, then at him. "Unhand me!"

"If you want to stay on House's good side, you should try to get along with his friends."

She couldn't help but snort. "Don't lecture me on what Greg needs."


	52. Green Meat Doesn't Mean Vegetarian

Green Meat Doesn't Mean Vegetarian

Visiting hours started at eleven. When Blythe House walked into her son's room, she noted the breakfast tray was still there, untouched. Greg looked like he was resting with his arm dramatically draped over his eyes in the epitome of the 'oh woe is me' pose. She tried to remain quiet, taking a seat at his bedside. Out of her purse she withdrew a sudoku puzzle book and pen.

"What's the point of visiting if you're going to ignore the patient?"

Blythe was startled. "I thought you were asleep."

"I've been dozing on and off. Kind of hard to get any shut eye when someone pops in here at least once an hour to poke me."

She stood so they could see each other. "How are you feeling?" Obviously a bad choice of words as he rolled his eyes. "God forbid a mother should want to know. And don't lie to me. These monitors are as good as a lie detector."

"Tired. Sore. Cranky. You know…the usual." He left his arm over his brow as it was a comfortable position.

"You didn't eat. Not hungry?"

"No appetite. At least not for that crap."

She put the cover over the congealed goop. Not very appetizing, is it?" The table was moved away. "Lunch should be here soon."

"More glop."

"You have to eat something."

"Does Domino's deliver to hospitals?"

"Probably. But you need something more nutritious."

"Oh yea, cause commercial grade slop is primo good for ya."

"Greg-"

"Really mom, do you think ground green meat with stems and leaf parts mashed into it, reconstituted imitation potato flakes and canned peas that are less green than the meat is a nutritious meal?"

"Somebody does," Blythe smirked. "If lunch isn't the least bit appealing, I'll get you something suitable." She continued to fuss over him, tucking in the blankets and straightening the objects on the bedside table.

"This is why you didn't need to come."

Blythe was stunned by his comment, forgetting he had a biting sarcasm that sometimes stung. "You don't want me here?" 

"That's not what I said. I'm going to lay here doing nothing; needing nothing. You'll be bored."

"That's my choice to make. Sometimes just being in the room is a comfort." Blythe took her son's hint and left him alone. She returned to her seat and her puzzle book.

Lunch arrived. It was green in all the wrong places. House's mom went to the cafeteria in search of his favorites. In her absence, Greg had another visitor.

About twenty-five helium filled balloons arrived, each one a different color. The bouquet obstructed the delivery person. All she heard was: "What the hell?"

"Delivery for Greg House." Cindy disguised her voice.

"Wrong room."

"Oh, I know this is the right room. Somebody needs some cheering up."

"Wrong Greg House."

"Nice try," Cindy gave up, tying the balloons to the bedside chair arm.

"I hate balloons," he said glumly.

"I figured as much."

"Then why in the hell-"

Cindy produced an overly large sized safety pin from her pocket. "That's why I brought this!"

He began laughing. At first it was the contagious chuckled that didn't stop. Soon it turned into a belly whopper that left him coughing and breathless. If laughter was supposed to be the best medicine, then why did it hurt so much? The hilarity and subsequent jerking coughs jarred his muscles all the way to his toes. As quickly as the laughter started, it was replaced by a grimace and moaning.

"Take a deep breath," Cindy coached. "Don't forget to ex-"

Greg blew out his air forcefully.

"Evenly."

He panted a few times like a woman in labor before taking a few proper deep breaths. The pain was subsiding. For now.

"Do you want to be medicated?"

He shook his head negatively, still trying to regulate his heart rate.

"Crisis averted." She watched the monitors for a few minutes. "No laughing without proper supervision."

"Don't worry, I won't be doing that again."

"Good. Moving on to other issues."

"No thanks."

"Not hungry?" She looked at his tray. "Eww."

"Mom's hunting down something less green."

"That could be dangerous."

"Why?"

"This time of year, the grass is less green."

Greg moaned. She wasn't sure why.

"I'm not feeling up to much company today. In an hour or so they'll start dialysis. I'll probably sleep through it."

"Oh-kay." It was a little disconcerting since she took off from work to be with him, but if he didn't want her there, she wouldn't force herself on him. "Do you need or want anything for next time?"

"I'm good."

She placed the safety pin on the bedside table before leaving.

"Is this how you say good-bye," he called after her.

"See ya," she looked over her shoulder at him briefly.

Blythe passed her in the hall on her way back to Greg's room. She entered, setting down a Styrofoam container in front of him. "You two have a fight?"

"Huh?" obviously he was distracted, "No."

"That was a short visit."

"I guess it was." He continued to seem lost in thought until he remembered she brought food.

"I saw James in the cafeteria. He said he'd be up to see you at the end of his shift."

"Hopefully I'll be asleep by then."

"That's not nice. James is a good friend. You shouldn't treat him so poorly."

House finally made eye contact with his mother. "That's not what I meant. I've got four to five hours of bloodletting coming up. I plan to sleep through it, and I'll be tired afterward."

"Oh." A squeamish look crossed his mom's face.

"You don't have to be here for that. In fact, I rather you weren't." It wasn't as harsh as he usually sounded, but it wasn't polite either.

Fortunately Blythe had a good grasp on her son's personality. "Alright. I'll find something to do with myself for a couple of hours."

"I have an idea," Greg said smirking.

"If it involves cleaning your apartment, you're shit out of luck."

He wanted to laugh but remembered what happened the last time. "No. Nothing like that. I can arrange it with Cuddy for you to spend some time 'grandma-ing' in the nursery, or helping keep track of the demons in pediatrics."

Blythe was beaming. Her son may never father a grandchild for her, but he knew what she yearned for. The grandmotherly instinct was definitely present. "That's a good idea."


	53. Grandma On Loan

Grandma On Loan

Cindy sat in her car not really sure what to do with herself. Since the arrival of Greg's mother, he seemed to want her less. She thought they had a spark; something, but it was getting less and less likely. The only thing that made sense was to go home, get in her pjs and crawl into bed.

Blythe House sat in a rocking chair rocking a newborn to sleep. The last time she made much of an attempt at soothing a child this tiny was a half of a century ago. Greg had been a fussy baby; always filled with colic and cranky. Blythe would tell John it was because he was nearly a month premature and that he wanted the comfort of his father's voice and touch. John believed the premature part, but felt the whole molly coddling thing was uncalled for. Blythe knew how much babies needed to feel loved in order to develop into well-adjusted people.

James Wilson sat by his friend's side laying a running commentary on the goings on of his Fellows in Diagnostics Department. It was followed up with the latest clinic patients he had seen. The monologue ended with the water cooler gossip.

At a few minutes to four he adjusted the television screen for House's maximum viewing pleasure and turned it to his favorite channel. "I know you feel like crap, but if you can't be cheered up by the daily events at Princeton-Plainsboro, there's always Prescription Passion."

House just nodded in thanks, his eye lids heavy with exhaustion.

Cindy lay on the couch in her jammies with her pillow and blanket watching Prescription Passion. She was usually at work while it aired, and on the days she was off, never spent time watching soaps. After the first commercial break she had no trouble changing the channel. Talk shows and soap operas were the stuff of daytime TV. Occasionally there was an infomercial or two, but nothing of any substance. Where were all the afternoon cartoons?

Blythe checked in on her son. True to his word, he was sleeping. With the babies in the nursery having their fill of a surrogate granny, she felt out of place. It wasn't until she heard a child crying that she realized she was standing in the hall looking in on her son through a window. The weeping continued, sounding like it came from a scared child. She followed the sound a few doors down.

Through the glass wall she observed a young boy crying as a nurse tried to feed him. The poor boy's arms were laden with casts. He didn't seem to want to eat, yet didn't want the nurse to leave.

"Where's my mom and dad," he whined over and over.

"They're going to be late tonight. There are a lot of cars on the freeway, and they're stuck in traffic."

"I want my mom!"

"Jeremy, you have to eat. By the time your parents arrive, they'll have expected you ate and the dishwasher in the kitchen needs to go home to his little boy."

Blythe smiled. The nurse's reasoning was sound, but not what an anxious boy wanted to hear. Bravely she knocked on the door. Both the child and the nurse looked to her expectantly.

"Hello, I'm the grandma on loan."

"What's that," the little boy asked.

"Well," Blythe started, cocking her head to the side, "do you know what it's like to borrow a book from the library?"

Jeremy nodded, eyes huge with wonder.

"I'm like that book. You can borrow me to keep you company until your parents arrive." She stepped into the room. "I can tell you a story or sing you a lullaby, feed you or just listen to your worries. Anything you want."

She slowly transitioned positions with the nurse.

"Thanks, Mrs. House," she whispered before leaving.

"Are you a real grandma?"

"I could be," she said loading up a spoonful of food. He ate willingly. "I don't have any grandchildren yet. But I do have a son."

"What's his name?"

"Gregory. As a matter of fact, here's here, in the hospital, too."

"Why aren't you feeding him?" Jeremy was entranced that a mom would be feeding someone else's kid.

"Well," Blythe had to think quickly on her feet. "First of all, he doesn't have any broken arms, so he can feed himself. And he's much older than you. When you get to be his age, you probably won't want your mom feeding you either."

"Did he eat all his dinner?"

"No, he's actually asleep right now. He'll eat when he wakes up."

"What if they take his tray away?"

"I'll make sure he gets something to eat. That's what moms do."

He nodded as if it made all the sense in the world.

"So, how did you manage to break both arms?" Blythe wanted to steer the child in a self-absorbed direction. The less he knew about her Greg, the better.

"Sledding."

"Wow, must have been a pretty serious hill."

He nodded earnestly. "What happened to your boy?"

"He fell on the ice."

"Was he playing hockey?"

"Not exactly. He forgot to wear his skates." She didn't want to make it appear that crossing an icy street was something anyone shouldn't take lightly.

More nodding, but this time with a look of confusion. The boy was trying to think through the situation. "Do you think we could be friends? Me and your son?"

Blythe pursed her lips to hold back a snort of laughter. "I don't know. He's a bit of a bully."

"He's a bully? Why?" Jeremy was completely enrapt with her story.

"Well, I think it's because he's older, and he's cranky. He hurt his leg when he was younger, and he can't do some of the things his friends can do. So he feels left out, I guess. And that makes him feel angry." She hadn't realized that she was analyzing Greg from the perspective of a child. It was surprising.

"Do you think he'll stop being angry long enough for me to meet him?"

She tousled his hair. Jeremy was a sweet boy. "I don't know about that. How about I ask him when he wakes up?"

Jeremy spied his parents outside the glass wall. "Mom, Dad, come meet library granny!"

Blythe stood up and introduced herself properly.

"Thank you so much for staying with him. The nurse tells us your son is just down the hall. I hope he's okay."

"Typical stubborn boy." She rolled her eyes. "Jeremy, on the other hand, was wonderful. He at all his dinner."

"I'm gonna meet Greg," Jeremy said cheerfully.

"My son," Blythe added. "Jeremy needs a buddy."

His parents knew she was too old to have a young son. This baffled them a bit.

"He's fifty-one," she said using her hand to shield Jeremy from what she was saying. "But he acts like he's ten." She winked before leaving.

Wilson was on his way back to House's room when he discovered Mrs. House leaving a patient's room.

"Heard we had a new Dr. House in the building today."

"Granny on loan, is more like it."

"Well, if it's any consolation, the staff prefers your bedside manner to your son's."

"We'd all like to see an improvement on that. I like to think that if we changed that about Greg, we might damage his brilliant mind. So I don't bother."

"That's an interesting philosophy," Wilson admitted uncertainly.

"It lets me sleep at night. That's all that matters."

Greg was awake. Maybe not as alert as he'd like to be, but awake nonetheless. He watched on as his mother and friend entered together, laughing.

"What have the dynamic duo been doing today?"

"Your mother sat in a differential diagnosis and saved a patient," James said without missing a beat. "She's getting the Nobel Prize in Medicine this year."

"Great. Did she use dynamite?"

"I spent the day in the nursery. And I just had a lovely visit with the boy down the hall. Told him all about you. Now he wants to make friends."

"Great. You're out saving the hospital while Cuddy writes thank you notes and Wilson poisons people. Meanwhile, I'm crippled in a bed and bored."

"Where's Cindy." Wilson just realized she was missing.

"Ugh, do we have to talk about my mistakes."

"Trouble in paradise?" Blythe went into mother mode, straightening the bed linens around him.

"I told her I didn't want company and sent her away."

"Wow," James was stunned. "That was a biggie."

"How so?"

"She took off work to spend time with you, and you rebuffed her."


	54. A New Puzzle

A New Puzzle

Cindy was half asleep on the couch when her phone went off. She fumbled for it, her hands numb having tucked them under her armpits to help her keep warm. "Dammit," she groaned. Even if she was fully awake, with the parasthesia there was no way she'd be able to answer in time.

The phone stopped ringing. The caller left no message. A few moments later she picked it up and looked at the screen. It had been Greg. Her first thought was 'asshole.' After a few more minutes she attempted to call him back.

"House." His greeting was terse.

"You called?" She said, holding back a yawn.

"Did I wake you?"

"Kind of." She sat up, wrapping her blanket around her shoulders.

"Sorry. If you want to go back to sleep-"

"No, I'm up now. What's happening? Everything okay?"

"I wanted to...I mean I didn't mean..."

"Yeah, yeah, you're sorry you dismissed me earlier today. I get it. No biggie."

She didn't want to sound perturbed, yet she was.

"If you wanted to...you know, come visit. I wouldn't object."

"Not gonna happen tonight. Sorry. I'm in my jammies in bed already."

"But it's only six o'clock!"

"Been like this all day. Not going to freeze my butt off. Not up to it." No, she wasn't mad or bitter. Just feeling blah and needing time to work things out in her head.

"But I'm injured!" He hoped she'd fall for it.

"You've got your mom and your staff of babysitters. You can survive a day without me." Cindy tried to sound reassuring.

"But I want you."

She smiled inwardly. He realized he had made a mistake sending her away. But seriously, right at this moment she needed time to herself.

"I'm feeling antisocial at the moment."

"You're pissed with me."

_Damn, he was mad._ "No, I'm not. I'm tired, I don't feel well and I just want to veg out and relax.

"Why don't you feel well?" His curiosity was piqued. A medical puzzle had presented itself.

"Ah, I can tell by the new tone in your voice that you're interested. I'll give you the symptoms. You can work them all night into a differential diagnosis and we'll discuss tomorrow."

"Okay. I've got my mental white board going. List 'em."

"Arthritis, tendonitis, synovitis, neuritis."

"'Itis is inflammation. Any fever?"

"Contrary to popular belief, I do have some medical training, so I know what 'itis' means too." She hadn't thought to take her temperature. "Afebrile."

"Paralysis or parasthesia?" He was in full doctor mode, wishing he did have his white board.

"Parasthesia. Poor circulation, too." She knew what she had. It was an old and chronic condition she suffered greatly from as a young adult, but the pain had been in remission for nearly twenty years. What its return meant, she wasn't exactly sure.

"History of herniated cervical discs, nerve entrapment and/or carpal tunnel syndrome?" He was on a roll, feeling a little more alive.

"Yes."

"Yes to which."

"All of them."

"Shit!"

"What's wrong?" He sounded upset, which upset her.

"You. You've got the grand whammy of symptoms."

"So what do I have?"

"My gut instinct tells me arthroneurosynotendonitis, or any combination therein of," he said this smiling, totally confident in his diagnosis.

"Treatment?"

"Rest effected joints. Drink plenty of fluids, with 600mg of anti-inflammatories TID, and see your hospitalized doctor boyfriend when you're better."

"A brilliant diagnosis and treatment plan. I couldn't have done better myself," she congratulated him. "So I am under a doctor's orders to hang up now, 'cause holding the phone makes my hand go numb. I'll talk to you in the morning."

Greg frowned as she hung up. He had no idea what she had, but he was surely going to find out.

"Doesn't sound like she's coming," Blythe said solemnly.

"No, not tonight. She's having some problems."

"I'm sure she'll be fine."

"Eh, she's young. It can't be as bad as she says." He finished the scraps of food left on his dinner tray.

Sometime after ten pm, he knew this because he had just finished watching Lie To Me, House felt the first twinges of gnawing pain. It had been a quiet day. The pain was always going to be present, but had been consistently tolerable. Until now. How long should he wait before asking for the narcotics? It was still under a 7 rating. He could ride it out until at least and 8 or 9, he thought.

The night nurse entered his room under the guise of checking his monitor leads and adjusting his bedding as needed. "Are you in any discomfort?"

"A little bit," he conceded. Maybe she had orders to dose him the minute he felt anything.

"Your heart rate is climbing. Would you like something for the pain?"

"If I say no, how long are you going to wait?"

"I have two choices. I can either call the doctor to administer a dose when you say you need it, or I can wait until your vitals become dangerously high and risk stroke or cardiac incident. Which do you think I want to happen?"

"I don't know. Do you like me?" It wasn't meant to be a loaded question, but obviously her puzzled look said she had to think too much for it to be a positive answer in his favor. "Get me the shot."

Hours later the pain escalated with a bout of muscle cramps. He was given a muscle relaxant and plied with heading pads under his lower back and over his hip and thigh. The therapies calmed him down enough to doze in and out. By morning he was exhausted and in a modicum of discomfort.

Upon refusal to eat breakfast, the nurse brought a can of vanilla Ensure with a straw and slammed it down on the table in front of him. "You have a choice."

"Not really." He picked at the powdered eggs on his plate, preferring to skip over what passed as some sort of meat links. The coffee was weak, the fruit cup turning brown. _Damn._ The Ensure was actually the most appetizing thing on the table.

The nurse returned a half hour later to check his progress. "You did good."

"Got any Pepto?"

"Are you sick to your stomach?"

"Not yet, but I have a feeling I will be after eating what passes for food around here."

"Dr. House, you're really quite funny." She made some notes in his chart.

"I'm so charming, I could be in a box of cereal."

"How are you holding up today?" Wilson walked in with House's mother.

"Much better, provided you have my computer and reading glasses."

Blythe handed him his rucksack. "Hope I got everything you needed."

Greg barely listened as he extracted his laptop and quickly opened it up, ready to plug in Cindy's list of symptoms.

"You've got a patient?"

"Not exactly. More like a puzzle to solve."

Wilson's brow knit with consternation.

"Don't have a cow, dude. Before you leave, remember to remind me to remind you to send Foreman down to see me sometime today." His fingers flew across the little keys.

"No problem." He backed out of the room, a little put off that his friend was more interested in the computer and an enigma than a little face time with a real person.

Blythe took it all in her stride. She sat in the bedside chair, picking a book out of her tote bag. If and when her son had anything to say to her; he would when he was ready.

By the time lunch arrived, Greg was totally absorbed in his research. He was thoroughly annoyed when the aid tried to put his meal tray next to the laptop.

"Working here," he growled without looking away from the screen.

Blythe cleared the beside stand to make room for the tray. "Here." She took it from the aide. "I'll make sure he eventually eats."

He got to a place where he was content to stop. Removing the glasses, he pinched the bridge of his nose as a method of acupressure to relieve the eye strain he was feeling.

"Did you sleep at all last night?"

"A little. What's on the tray?"

"Looks like meatloaf, mashed potatoes and peas."

"Gads. I've got to convince Cuddy to get a better chef."

"Greg, be nice. It looks perfectly edible."

"Looks can be deceiving." He moved his laptop so she could put the food in front of him."

"Dr. Cuddy asked if I wouldn't mind helping out in the nursery again." Blythe was trying to be nonchalant, but she was bursting with excitement. "And since I figure you'll want to rest during dialysis, I told her I would."

"Pretty soon Wilson will have you reading to the cancer kids."

"Oh, that reminds me. Tomorrow I'm scheduling a play date for you with Jeremy."

"Who's Jeremy? And you better tell me he's a world champion poker player who had to have a chip removed from a certain orifice because he's THAT good."

"Greg!"

"Mom!" He matched her tone. "I'm fifty years old. I don't have play dates. Playmates-yes. But definitely not play dates."

"He's a sweet young man bored out of his skull. He'd really enjoy meeting you."

"I suppose I could suffer through it…for you." He cut a chunk of meat, stabbed it with the fork and tentatively brought it to his mouth.

"That reminds me." He felt around his left side for the cell phone. After finding his call log, Greg selected Cindy's number.

"Hello,' Cindy barely opened her eyes to make sure she was answering her cell and not the TV remote.

"What are you doing still sleeping?"

"Greg?"

"Yep. So answer the question."

"What question?"

"Sleeping. You. Middle of the day. Go!"

"Bad night," she admitted, wiping her free hand across her face. "What time is it?"

"Twelve-thirty."

"Shit!"

"Don't panic, the world didn't end without you."

"No. I mean…ahh, I don't…I didn't plan on sleeping through the day."

"Sounds like you needed it. Go back to sleep. Call me later." He hung up not waiting for a response.

"So what time should I set up the meet and greet for?"

Greg frowned, giving her the pleading look 'don't do this to me.'

"Better yet, you'll have lunch together."

"Ma!"

"Don't Ma me." She gave him back the attitude he gave her. "And you'll be nice."

Cindy dragged her ass off the couch and down the hall to the bathroom. Her body ached from a night on the couch and the drop in temperature that frosted the panes of her windows. The apartment was freezing. Of course, her unexpected siesta in the living room didn't take into consideration turning up the heater to compensate for the nighttime temperature change.

The quickest way to chase away the aches and pain was to jump in a hot shower, then turn up the heat before burrowing under the bed covers.


	55. Play Date

Play Date

Visiting hours were about to begin. Greg was a little anxious about his "play date" with Jeremy. Mom hadn't said much more than that the two boys should do lunch. She was staying for the little get together. When he asked if he could invite Cindy, she thought it was the perfect idea. No matter what transpired, House felt like the odds had been evened a bit.

Blythe arrived at her usual time, did her usual morning rituals with her son, then took a seat and opened her book. Wilson stopped by between patients to tease him about his big date. Something felt decidedly off to Greg. It was as if this Jeremy was some superstar patient that House would end up envying or admiring. As long as it wasn't one of Wilson's cancer patients, he felt he could survive just about anything.

When Cindy popped in, he couldn't help but smile broadly. He almost forgot why he was in the hospital...almost.

"Wow, what an improvement," her eyes shone with delight. "I thought I was going to find you in your usual mood. Who knew a mother's love could be so life affirming."

"Shut up," he teased.

"Considering he's got an attitude only a mother could love," Blythe rebutted.

"Hey, no ganging up on the cripple. I can't get up and chase either of you around."

"I'm going to go down to Jeremy's room, see how he's feeling and get him set for his journey." Blythe patted her son's shoulder mouthing, 'have fun.'

No sooner was his mom out of the room than Cindy sat on the edge of the bed. "Okay, what's going on. A play date?"

"My mom's been the roving hospital granny. Cuddy has her hanging out in the neonatal nursery. Wilson's got her reading to the cancer kids. If I don't get out of here soon, she's going to take over my office and give me a good reputation." His exaggerated the whine in his voice for effect.

"God forbid your rep would be ruined." She smiled awkwardly. They way they had last left things was a bit strained.

"How are you doing?" He was tired of being the center of attention. Her symptoms had been weighing heavily on his mind for the past twenty four hours.

"I'm doing alright. A little bored at times, but getting beyond it."

"What are you doing to break up the monotony?" He truly wanted to know what she did to keep from being exceedingly unchallenged.

"Sleep. Yep, that's pretty much what I do." She puffed her cheeks full of air and blew it out through forced lips slowly. "How 'bout you?"

He thought about it a few moments. "I like to berate my underlings." He nodded with his lips pursed in a cynical expression.

"Wow, wish I had that talent."

He held her hands in his. "Oh, I'm sure you do. You just don't have underlings to berate like I do."

"I've heard you're a bit of a sadist. I guess your minions are like me, happy to be in your line of fire."

"Are you trying to tell me something?"

"Only about myself; that I'm a glutton for punishment."

He leaned up to her, planting a light kiss on her lips. She responded back in equal force. They both wanted to take it further but knew that his mom was due back any minute with their guest of honor.

"We can continue this later." She hopped off the bed and out of reach. A quick inspection of his leg revealed a decrease in swelling. "Have they told you when they're going to cast this puppy?"

"Probably." He smirked at her confusion. "I'm sure they said something. And I'm sure I wasn't paying close attention at the time."

"I figured you'd be pushing the envelope by now and demanding it."

"I've had some other issues, like PAIN on my mind. A cast kind of takes low priority. Besides, they can place a heating pad on my thigh like this."

She smiled broadly.

"Why do you look like the cat that just ate the canary?" He held out his hand to her, wanting her to join him on the bed again.

"You should probably listen to your surgeon more closely. He's like E.F. Hutton. When he talks, you should listen."

She was about to go in for another kiss when his door slid open and Blythe appeared with her new friend. Both of them did a double take.

"Greg, Cindy, this is Jeremy. Jeremy, this is my son Greg and his friend."

Cindy and Greg looked at each other letting a smile cross their lips. Greg took a good look at the little boy. He'd take one bum leg over two broken arms any day.

"Those are some serious sleeves," Cindy broke the ice. "Good thing there's no matching shirt."

Jeremy actually giggled. It was the first time Blythe heard him laugh. She rolled him next to the bed so he could be part of the group.

Cindy noted that Greg had to strain his neck to look down at the boy. "Got an idea," she warned before lowering House's bed. Now they could all be on the same level.

"So, how'd you come to be my mom's favorite patient?" Greg's idea of a little poker game flew out the window. Even Go Fish was going to be a no go.

"You're a lot older than I thought." He stared at House's splinted leg. "Do you play hockey?"

"Uh, no. I'm more of a sit at the table and play cards kind of guy." Greg caught his mother's eye and raise an eyebrow in question.

"Hmm. Your mom said you fell on the ice."

Greg rolled his eyes. Now he had to take flack from a kid. "Yeah. It ain't so fun when you're an adult and you do it. So what happened to you?"

"I thought it was plain as the nose on my face. I broke my arms." Jeremy said it with such innocence, Blythe and Cindy both turned their heads to hide their laughter.

"Yeah, I can see that, but how did you break both arms?"

"Sledding."

House remembered being a kid and sledding. Those were the days. "Dangerous sport, that is."

There was an awkward silence that followed that was only broken by someone's stomach growling. Both Greg and Jeremy looked down at their bellies.

"I guess it's lunchtime then," Blythe announced.

"Have they been feeding you the same junk they're giving me?"

"Is it green and has vegetables with it?" Jeremy wrinkled his nose with distaste.

"That's the stuff! It's yucky."

"Yeah!" Jeremy nodded his head for extra emphasis.

"That's why today we decided to bring you something special." Cindy winked at Greg before leaving the room.

Greg looked to his mother. "You set me up."

She smiled sheepishly and shrugged.

Cindy returned with two McDonald's Happy Meals and a bag of extra edibles for her and Greg's mom.

"All right. Real food!" House and Jeremy were thrilled.

Greg became all too aware of how his mother had been helping the child. The poor kid couldn't even feed himself. "Whatcha got?"

Jeremy peeked into the bag Blythe held and smiled. "Chicken nuggets!"

"Cool." House looked into his bag to discover he got the Big Kids Meal.

Blythe set up Jeremy's food on the bedside table, while Cindy played mom to House and put his food out on the tray. She didn't want Jeremy to feel at a disadvantage not being able to feed himself, so she decided that she was going to help Greg as much as possible, whether he wanted her too or not.

"I like french fries."

"Me too," Greg said earnestly.

Blythe and Cindy took care of the boys while they chatted away between eating lunch and telling stories about the fun times they had in the snow. Of course Greg's stories were memories, while Jeremy dreamed of doing some crazy stuff.

It was nice to feel whole for a while. Greg didn't know Jeremy knew that before his accident Greg couldn't walk well. It seemed to Jeremy he was just a guy who had a broken leg. There was no reason to tell him anything different.

Lunch was over all too soon. Jeremy was sad to have to leave, but Greg explained that he needed to have some special treatment, and even his mom and friend had to leave for a while. House promised he could come visit again.

Blythe left with the young boy, planning on settling him back in before going on to grandma duty. Cindy took the opportunity to close the blinds and get a little closer to Greg.

"You two were cute together," she teased.

"Oh yeah, just a couple of broken guys bonding." He grabbed her hands in his again, his reasoning two-fold. "He's not going to have any lasting damage, is he?"

"Don't know. Kids are pretty resilient. If you want me to ask..."

"I want you to kiss me."

They leaned into each other letting their desire take them wherever it would lead.

"Ahem," Thirteen did a bad job of clearing her throat as she entered the room with the dialysis machine. "Sorry, but it's time."

"Great. Let's get it over with."

House seemed to be in a better mood now that Cindy was with him. "Hey," Remy smiled at her. "Let me just hook him up and I'll be out of your way." She was ready to make the connections when she realized House's bed was about two feet lower than she was used to.

"Forgot about that," Cindy chuckled. She pressed the buttons that would take his bed back to 'regulation' height.

"I feel like I'm riding a barber's chair."

"I'm glad you're amused. We aim to please." Dr. Hadley secured the line into the shunt and started the machine. "See you in a couple of hours."

"Could you place the do not disturb sign on the door?"

"Sure," she said ignoring the request. They didn't have do not disturb signs.

Cindy kissed him again as she snuggled on the edge of the bed with him.

"I'm glad you're here," Greg kissed the top of her head.

"I like being with you." She snuggled closer.

"I sense a 'but' in there."

"But we really don't know each other well. I'm not even sure why we're friends."

He thought about it. She had a point. Aside from being there when he was laying in the street, they really knew nothing about each other except for his history of infarction and her...well, whatever it was she was suffering from.

"That's why there's this whole courtship thing. It's the time period when two people get to know each other."

"Well, duh. We're obviously attracted to each other physically," Cindy stated.

"There's more to it than that. You're smart. You're strong. You're-"

"Opinionated."

"Yes, that too. All good characteristics in a woman. And there's the promise of kinky sex." He just couldn't help but add that last remark.

"No kinky sex for a while. You can't risk another crisis."

He wasn't sure if she was teasing or not. She wasn't looking at him. Not that she was trying to avoid him. It was just the positioning on the bed and all.

"Let's move on from my health and discuss yours." He reached for her hands.

"Doing much better today. I didn't sleep on my hands. Always good to not cut off circulation."

"So that's why you had 'pins and needles'. That'll go away if you stop doing that."

"No shit. Oh, wait, I'm supposed to be stroking your ego. My god, you're an amazing diagnostician and a genius. But I suppose you hear that all of the time."

"Doesn't hurt to keep hearing it repeated," he snorted.

"I'll have to get my game on now, because tomorrow I go back to work."

"Bummer."

"You should be out of here soon. I mean, you can do dialysis on an outpatient basis."

"I think Cuddy wants to keep me under her thumb. This way I keep consulting and my mom keeps helping out the nurses. It's a win, win, win, lose situation."

"Is she ever going to be over you?"

"Probably not. But that's her problem. I'm done with her."

"Really? You see her every day. How are you to not inextricably connected?"

He was smiling to himself. She was jealous, and he liked that. "We're always going to have a history. Just not a romantic future."


End file.
